


Blame it on Barcelona

by DrawMeAKey



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Hijinks & Shenanigans, LTIH - Freeform, The rain in Spain, Things to do on Vacation, barcelona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrawMeAKey/pseuds/DrawMeAKey
Summary: Inspired by the talk and lovely other work posted on a line that has now launched other fics - in S5 E01, that Caroline, Gillian, Flora, and Calamity went to Barcelona and did a bus tour. The following few chapters are what I'm dreaming about.
Relationships: Gillian Greenwood/Caroline McKenzie-Dawson
Comments: 105
Kudos: 104





	1. Como Se Dice?

From the moment they stepped off the plane in Barcelona, Caroline felt unburdened, lighter. The freedom in leaving behind routine and embracing the Spanish sun—from under the safety of a giant straw hat reminiscent of something Meryl Streep wore in _Out of Africa_ —had her and her traveling companions practically skipping to the taxi queue.

The trip has shown a new side of Gillian; she is now singing with eyes closed, fingers snapping, hips moving in time: “Blame it on Barcelona! With its magic spell, blame it on Barcelona that we saw so well.”

“Gillian, I swear if you continue bastardizing song lyrics, I’m leaving you behind. And may I remind you—you speak French, not Spanish, so bear that in mind—” Caroline’s threat petered out at the end. Secretly it was exhilarating to be around Gillian so unencumbered. This was the third song she had tried to work the name Barcelona into, and the charm worked. (The first had been “I Say a Little Prayer”, and she had struggled with a verse to work Barcelona into the “forever, together” line, while the girls just looked at her in confusion. The second song was lifted straight from _West Side Story_ , but Barcelona didn’t fit where “America” went.) Flora and Calamity hopped around Gillian without concern for a song’s time signature they had never heard. The three looked so happy Caroline lost all pretense of annoyance and laughed in spite of herself.

Caroline marveled at how the vacation had come to be at all. It was a collision of timing, major life events, and a faculty member whose motives were still unknown. Aside from spending summers in New York with Flora and Ginika, Caroline was ready for something new, and on a lark asked around school for ideas for a trip. This led her to a part-time secretary who was also starting a travel side-business.

Raff and Ellie had gotten married early in the summer with a small party. Gillian wanted to give time and relative privacy — she volunteered to be responsible for Calamity for a week or so as a gift, and with all the Greenwoods on top of each other in the farmhouse, the present had been in name only. Caroline knew at a gut level Gillian had not had a proper vacation in eons, if ever. Even during her honeymoon with Robbie, she had texted Caroline continually through each day, complaining about the wine better suited to a posh palette, or how she saw two women kissing and maybe they had a friend for Caroline. It wasn’t until Robbie had gotten food poisoning that her texts changed in tone, without Robbie picking at every edge, the unexpected independence became freeing in more ways than one: _The sky burns today. How can the sky be white and the ground blue?_ Or _I dropped my ring in the pool. I could see it clearer at the bottom than when it was on my hand_. The texts took on a dreamlike tone that Caroline rarely saw in Gillian. 

Deanne, who had started doing secretarial work and then added to monitoring the auditorium and lunches so that she was now quasi-faculty, had come through with an amazing package—nine days in Barcelona. The price was simply too good to pass up, so good that Caroline wondered if Deanne had an inside connection or was atoning for some unknown sin yet to come to light. Or perhaps she really had missed her true calling as a travel agent. In addition to the basic trip, she found upgrades and added tours to their package: The aquarium, chocolate museum, science museum, a bus tour of the city, the Parc Del Laberint, and a dinner to celebrate the culture of Spain and Barcelona.

Gillian had taken convincing. Assurance that there was not charity involved and that instead, this was part of an overdue present for their fiftieth birthday two years prior. Gillian had gifted Caroline with a bottle of champagne of such quality that everyone questioned if Gillian had sold a kidney to procure it. She still hadn’t told Caroline how or where it came from, but that Gillian’s eyes glowed with pleasure when Caroline unwrapped it was all the answer she would get.

Caroline hadn’t forgotten the gift and wanted to repay in kind. Once Caroline had mentioned taking Calamity, Gillian agreed.

The flight had been uneventful, if not slightly early to the destination, and all their luggage had made it to the carousel; Caroline took all this as a good omen for the trip but it was Gillian’s reaction on arriving to the hotel that cemented her gratitude to Deanne.

“Fff – bloody hell Caz, you know how to show a girl a good time!” Gillian dropped a bag from her shoulder to let it thunk on the tile. Flora and Calamity squealed and ran circles around every bit of furniture. The accommodations consisted of a suite with a kitchen, small dining area, balcony, marble bar, lounge area, and 2 separate bedrooms, all gloriously appointed.

_I really should have read whatever was in the clauses for this trip_ Caroline thought to herself. _I might have made Deanne Interim Head Teacher._

*****

Three days in and Caroline no longer cares. 

The food is beautiful and delicious and looks familiar enough that Flora and Calamity haven’t refused to try anything. Gillian pockets whatever pastries she can at breakfast and doles them out during the day at unexpected times. The girls have been doing well with all of the walking and the pace Gillian sets. Caroline brings up the rear shouting encouragement or time warnings to the intrepid shepherdess. Even more miraculous, the girls sleep through the night. Barely a word of complaint once they are back at the hotel. It’s still a fight to wash their faces, but not bad because they are in bed by 9. After which Gillian and Caroline retire to the lounge area or to the small balcony with wine and chocolate and whatever other goodies they’ve purchased earlier in the day.

There have been other unexpected pleasures aside from Gillian’s song stylings — her well-toned arms on continual display in short sleeves and tank tops, her pale triceps and deltoids slowly gaining color with each day. Caroline silently appreciates the show while shushing any other thoughts. Gillian’s form is easy to enjoy, only enhanced by the partnership they have formed over the years, their brand of intimacy. The endless peeling of veg for family dinners. Sneaking outside with wine at Christmas, their breath mingling in the crisp air. Cleaning up on Sundays after supper. They text throughout the week, and still occasionally go to dinner, just the two of them. If something arises, something important, the other is the first call made, while still saying some degrading name. That Caroline had awoken more than once with an ache between her thighs and the fading impressions of Gillian in a dream would not, could not matter.

Now in their daily gallivants, Gillian’s arms are always moving, pointing, carrying, scooping, reaching out to a new thing, including Caroline: Gillian has taken to threading their arms together when walking, hips touching where the sidewalks allow.

Today had been the halfway point of the trip. The bus tour had taken the day, then deposited them back at the hotel midafternoon with enough time to nap and prepare for the cultural dinner in the evening. Months back when Caroline was setting the itinerary, she had teasingly told Gillian to pack something nice and to make sure Calamity had something too. Gillian’s response was that she was “having her red and blue plaid dry-cleaned. Calam is bringing her best wellies.”

Now, after an hour of being back in the room everyone is mostly ready, the television broadcasting a telenovela, dramatic music sound-tracking every lost and found shoe. Flora is fully dressed for dinner and busy sorting her crayons by color at the table. _She is my daughter_ , Caroline thinks after seeing the five-year-old add in a secondary sort by crayon length. She emerges from the room in a dress whose zip sits squarely in the middle of her back, just out of reach to finish fastening. This dress was picked for the flowy quality of the skirt, thanks to a slit at the back, and for the creamy gold color. The neck was an elongated boat neck with half-sleeves to her elbows. Caroline likes the molten quality of the dress, and in selecting it for all of its positive qualities, had completely forgotten about the particular trouble of needing assistance into and out of it.

“Gillian?” Caroline crosses the common area while holding the dress in place under her bust, assuring it won’t fall down further while walking. Stopping in front of the bedroom she raises a hand to tap the door, the music from the television turns watery and flowy: an introduction to a dream sequence. “May I have a hand, please?”

A multitasking Gillian opens the bedroom door, while fiddling with an earring, her eyes going wide as she takes in the majesty of Caroline. A heavenly choir sings from the TV. Standing before her is not some sweetly angelic figure, but a fearsome host of heaven. Caroline’s eyes flash crystalline blue; makeup done to emphasize them further, and her hair is up, showcasing her lovely long neck. It’s a look that Gillian wouldn’t attempt, or even know where to start. She is clothed in flowing gold that swirls about her hips and knees, it accents her skin tone and hair as if flecked in gold dust permanently.

To her credit, Caroline doesn’t notice Gillian’s silent awe, as she is having a similar reaction to her step-sister. She is not angelic but some goddess of the pastoral earth; fresh-faced and barefoot, her hair hanging in damp waves about her face. Her dress is a shimmering navy blue, sleeveless, with a deep ‘V’ in the front and back, nipping into her waist before flaring out in a skirt that falls to her knees. Caroline realizes it’s the same dress she wore to Raff and Ellie’s wedding, but then she’d covered it with a tawny cardigan buttoned up over it all evening. The impact of the dress alone is unexpected; the flattering cut, the color perfect on her skin, with the dark blue tone lifting and highlighting the pale green in her eyes. Caroline’s mouth goes dry.

Gillian fiddles with her other earring, then smooths the pleats at her waist until Caroline’s train of thought returns. Remembering with a smile, she shrugs her shoulders upward, illustrating the loose bodice. 

“Would you zip this? I can’t reach it.” She turns around, grateful that Gillian can’t see her desperate exhalation and even though it’s expected, when Gillian places her hand on Caroline’s back, she shivers.

Gillian steps closer; a warm shadow, steadily feeding the teeth of the zipper while gripping the parallel seams of the sides, not wanting to catch any of the gossamer material. Caroline’s perfume emanates lightly from the dress. Gillian’s hand is warm on her back, her breath touches the nape of Caroline’s neck. She shivers again not from cold. _She’s given me gooseflesh._

“Can’t have Batman going around without his cape.” Gillian’s fingers linger at the top of the zip, completing the delicate hook and eye closure; her thumb makes a small circle on Caroline’s skin.

“Does that make you Alfred?”

“Nope, I’m Catwoman.”

“Which?”

“Still deciding.”

“Thank you,” Caroline breaks the moment and turns to face Gillian. “Are you about ready?” Casting a glance over to a dressed Calamity who is giving her toy stuffed lamb a stern talking to on the bed.

“Lift off in 5, give or take.”

Caroline nods and moves to exit, when she pauses with her hand on the door handle. “I think you’re Julie Newmar.”

*****

Gillian hadn’t known what to expect out of a cultural dinner. She thought at least it was a good reason to wear the dress she’d had to buy for Raff and Ellie’s wedding, for all that it cost, she needed to wear it 98 more times. The dinner was colorful, if not a little hokey, but the food had been decent, the waiters had kept hers and Caroline’s glasses full, and the bread was fantastic. She was disappointed that she’d forgotten a handkerchief that would have easily carried 5 rolls hidden in her bag.

As the final course was cleared the show culminated with a Flamenco dancer: a stately woman seemingly more imposing for her heels, her black hair crowned with a beaded black tiara. Her dress was crimson with yellow threading and an impressive crested orange collar. The dress reminded Gillian of some exotic bird with red eyes. The tones of the dress darkened to black ruffled lace, with layers of skirting that the dancer used to great effect: the underside of the dress was the same fiery tone of the bodice. As she moved around, she waved her hands and, picking up the skirt, moved it from side to side rolling and fanning the waves. She became a dancing flame on the mirror-like floor. 

As the segment ended, the different featured dancers went through the space pulling diners up to dance. Not Flamenco, but something closer to a ballroom step around the wide center of the hall. Gillian sat back in her chair, interested to see what or who would be pulled up next. A tall gentlemen with a close-fitting suit and a finely trimmed mustache stopped in front of their table and held out his hand to Caroline, whom Gillian expected to shake her head with a “No thank you,” but a beat passed where she seemed to be considering it. Gillian held her breath; the mood at the table was jovial, the lights of the hall spun. Then Caroline accepted the hand, rising from the table regally as Gillian, Flora, and Calamity all burst into cheering. 

He led Caroline a few steps from the table to the open area where the dinner show had been, placed his hand modestly at the small of her back, and, while taking her other hand, proceeded to glide in a classic waltz around in a circle. Caroline’s dress flared, liquid gold tendrils sailing on air. Her legs, pale and shapely, moved in perfect synchronization to her partner. The lights found Caroline, following her as if the whole moment had been choreographed.

Although enthusiastic for Caroline to dance, Gillian had no idea of her aptitude for it. She sat in silent shock through Caroline’s first round about the floor. With the next pass by the table Gillian’s shock gave way to pure elation as she, Flora, and Calamity took to their feet clapping, cheering, and whistling. When Caroline’s partner changed direction, she followed; he added in twirls and extended his reach of her, holding her out with her skirt flaring up her thighs. Gillian could see a pleased smile on Caroline’s mouth as she the flowed over the floor in malleable gold.

Gillian would remember the whole of the moment for the rest of her life: the happiness, the sight of Caroline confidently spinning. It would be enough, she thought, to be with her in this way alone, to be in the orbit of this ethereal being. _I could never stand beside this celestial._

As the song progressed, more couples came crowding the floor, but it was easy to follow the gold dress floating in time. At the last strains of the song, Caroline bowed to her partner and then waved to the table. More music followed, and all participants were encouraged to keep dancing. Calamity and Flora wiggled in their seats.

To Gillian’s surprise Caroline did not sit down but instead offered her hand to Gillian to join her.

“I can’t do that, what with the twirling and stuff,” Gillian was already shaking her head no, but leaning towards the proffered hand.

“Come on, pretend it’s a wedding. We can dance.”

Gillian rose, vibrating to her feet, holding Caroline’s hand.

“Girls, do you want to come?” Caroline paused for a moment, then Flora and Calamity also clasped hands and ran ahead to the dance floor. “Stay where we can see you, please!”

The hall was populated with varying levels of competent rhythm. Caroline put her hands on Gillian’s waist before she could ask who would lead. Her hands were steady.

“I’m really glad you and Calamity came. This has been really nice.”

“I don’t even know what to say. This. This has been so good.”

Gillian tried not to fidget in Caroline’s arms. She moved her hands from resting on Caroline’s shoulders to clasping behind her neck, looking up quickly into Caroline’s eyes; a shy smile flashed from the corner of her mouth. Then, just as quickly, she focused her gaze off to the left of Caroline’s shoulder.

The song ended and changed into something faster. Gillian did not move, nor change her hold on Caroline. Calamity began jumping up and down with alacrity of someone with springs in her shoes. Moving in time, she then added a kick step to her own improvised jig; a whirling dervish of spinning and jumping. Concerned, Gillian broke away to reign her in, a futile effort. Calamity, now thoroughly dizzy and giggling with Flora, fell mid-spin-kick, catching Caroline squarely in the shin.

Which brought about an abrupt end to the evening for everyone.

*****

“Caz, you have a gift. Honestly, I had no idea. Missed your calling,” Gillian is leaning against the bar of the kitchen and rifling through the canvas snack bag, praying that she missed a churro on the first pass through five minutes earlier. The girls had passed out on the ride home and Gillian had managed to carry Flora, while Caroline limped with a contrite sleep-walking Calamity. The two were now ensconced in the bed of “Gillian and Calamity’s Room.”

Caroline winces as she sits down on the sofa. “Oh, I have untapped depths.” She says through the gritted teeth of a pained smile and a face that says, “Try me.”

“How much wine did we have?” Gillian staggers, but assembles a cold pack from a hand towel and ice from the refrigerator, gathers the open rioja and a large water bottle, glasses and the triumphant churro, then makes it to the sofa and sits down.

“All of it. They put a bottle of red and a bottle of white on the table; we had champagne; and didn’t you have a whiskey?”

“Brandy, same as you had.”

“Right,” Caroline massages her temples. She really should switch to water soon, but this stage of drunkenness with her step-sister is welcome and familiar.

“Where did you learn to dance? You’re quite good,” Gillian offers the bottle of water and half the churro once settled beside Caroline.

“Oxford. It was an extracurricular,” The dancer says between bites, chewing thoughtfully. “It really started just as a bit of fun, but there were never enough boys to go around, so I learned their part too.” She grins at the memory. It was easy to be confident in that moment, to hold her partner and step away in time.

“I had no idea.” Gillian sears the image of Caroline floating among the other couples into her memory forever.

“John said he could dance. He can’t. It took everything for him to get through our first dance at our wedding.” Caroline sits back into the sofa remembering, he had stepped on her toes twice, and nervously burped in her ear.

“Tosser.” _He didn’t know what he had._ Gillian swallows the last of her churro and decides to examine the damage. “Let me see?” She leans forward gesturing for Caroline to place the injured limb in her lap and flexes her fingers in an impatient motion for effect.

Caroline sighs and surrenders her left foot to Gillian by turning sideways and extending her leg over Gillian’s thigh. 

Oh, Gillian’s luck! She is cradling the snotty bitch’s ankle and high-heeled clad foot. Caroline’s dress has ridden up a bit past her knees, revealing her thigh as she had when spinning on the dance floor. 

“I’m sorry. This looks painful.” Gillian timidly cups her hands around the perimeter of the angry red welt forming on the lower leg.

“It’s not so bad, really, looks worse than it is.” Caroline attempts to downplay the attention, while Gillian’s hands, cool from the compress, gently prod the perimeter of the bruise yet to form but within the month it takes to fade will cycle through a rainbow of colors.

“Well, I’m going to set this here and see if I can get the swelling moving a bit. I won’t touch where she kicked you — ah — directly.” Gillian gently rests the ice pack on the welt, unbuckles the shoe at Caroline’s ankle, and removes it. Deftly, but with a firm, soft touch, she runs both hands over the foot, cradling the ankle, and starting with a juggling motion, begins to massage Caroline’s foot. Circling the ankle, her thumbs crisscross paths on the sole, working through the arch, fanning out into the ball of the foot, through the tarsals and metatarsals. She gently squeezes each toe and in a wringing movement pulls upward, from base to the tip of the nail. It’s a ticklish sensation. Gillian’s fingers move firmly around the foot, there are sore spots, there are odd crunchy-like knots that cause Caroline to sit upright. Her toes pop. Gillian just smiles and continues rolling the ankle following the bones of her upper foot to her shin.

_This feels good. Really good. When was the last time someone touched me to just soothe?_ Caroline, although somewhat distracted by the painful knot, enjoys the opportunity to study Gillian without being observed in turn. Her movements are confident and the muscles of her forearms flex as she rolls and extends her hands.

“Where did you learn this?”

“The sheep, lambs sometimes need a rubdown if their hip joints get cold, if they’re caught in the rain.”

Caroline interlaces her fingers and pushes a thumb into the opposite palm. She can feel her own pulse in her hand. “I didn’t think sheep had toes.”

Gillian looks up briefly to meet Caroline’s eyes, a slight smile playing on her mouth; it’s pleasing to be able to surprise the head teacher. Her hands now gently glide up the sides of Caroline’s shin, firm pressure at the ankle to feather soft at the knee. Her fingers curve around the shin into the calf muscle separating, pushing in an upward motion towards the thigh and Caroline’s heart.

“When you have an injury where you need to not move something, or can’t move, the muscles can atrophy. Moving things around – before they freeze — it’s unpleasant, but worth it. Not that you can always keep off something that’s hurt,” Gillian’s eyes are dark. She has more experience with broken things than she has ever wanted. “You have pretty feet.”

“What?” Caroline laughs through the haze of sensation. Her whole leg is warming up thanks to Gillian’s ministrations, with a cold center at her shin. She is warm everywhere. Gillian’s hands are slowly making their way up her leg with no indication she will stop.

“They are! You have posh, delicate, dancing feet!” Gillian uses her thumbs to do clockwise circles around the knee and swallows hard at the thought of the running her knuckles up the long muscles of Caroline’s thigh.

“Ridiculous.” Caroline wants to take control before she loses herself to Gillian’s dexterous hands. “That’s really nice, but you look like you’re falling asleep. Come on – the girls are in your bed, we’ll share mine. Unless, you’d rather sleep here?” Caroline leans forward to take the damp ice pack and catches Gillian’s eyes. She slowly lifts her leg from Gillian’s lap and removes her other shoe before setting both feet evenly on the ground. The invitation is innocent and common sense.

“If you don’t mind.” Gillian nods dully.

“Not at all. But if you could – please?” In a smooth motion Caroline rises from the sofa and turns her back to Gillian; reaching with her right hand behind her neck and taps the top of the clasp and zipper, needing Gillian to undo her earlier work.

She stands, hands fumbling slightly, unclasps and unzips the dress down to the base of the spine slowly; mesmerized by every inch of luminescent skin revealed. Caroline’s back glows against the glimmering material in the half-light of the evening.

“I’ll change and ch-check on the girls, and uh – be right in.”

Caroline shoots a smile of gratitude over her shoulder and moves to her room when Gillian calls her name softly. She stops and turns to Gillian.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Gillian asks, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Good. Good. I was going to say the same.”

Gillian is silent and frantic, moving with the purpose of Calamity at the last Easter egg hunt. She manages to hang her dress, change into her worn New Zealand t-shirt and plaid sleep shorts, brushes her teeth while removing her eye makeup. She leaves the bedroom door open slightly in case one of the girls needs something – however neither has stirred. In under ten minutes, Gillian is in Caroline’s room tiptoeing around the bed to the open side, while the white duvet sprouts a plume of blond hair on the side that Gillian normally sleeps. 

_I should have expected that._ Gillian thinks as she slides into the cool sheets and clicks the bedside lamp off, plunging the room in shadow. Caroline’s breathing is already sleep-steady and Gillian rolls on her side to face Caroline’s form.

The question has been gnawing at her since Caroline returned to the table and offered her hand to Gillian. She doesn’t need an answer, she just needs to ask.

“Caroline,” Gillian whispers, using her full name. “Why’d you ask me to dance?”

A deep and sleepy inhale comes from Caroline’s prone form and she rolls to her side, facing Gillian. A full pillow width and darkness separates them.

“Because I wanted to, you knob.”

Notes:

Women who have played Catwoman:

  1. Julie Newmar
  2. Eartha Kitt
  3. Lee Meriwether
  4. Michelle Pfeiffer
  5. Halle Berry
  6. Anne Hathaway
  7. I don’t count the ongoing CW series



Songs:

[Blame It On The Bossa Nova – Eydie Gorme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sn4Fly9cOn0)

[Leyenda by Isaac Albeniz Performed by Andres Segovia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCeebWgjrrU)


	2. Donde Esta la Playa?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day after dinner and dancing in Barcelona - the ladies and kids go to the beach, encounter truths and the effects of old sun cream.

**Part I -** Un Sueño Incierto

The farmhouse is dark with only the hearth to illuminate the room, the firelight so lovely that Gillian actually prefers it to anything electric; the way the flickering glow holds and sculpts making shadows friendly, the friendly shadows of her living room, the mantle with pictures, the desk with the rubbish computer, the ancient couch she is sitting on, the couch she got shortly after Eddie died, that Raff threw up on after drinking too much at a birthday party, the couch that her and her dad had discussed her mother’s dementia on, the couch that she confessed Eddie’s murder to Caroline on, the couch that Robbie held her on, she is sitting on the same couch with the same throw and quilt that her mother made, the fire is crackling away merrily, slowly dying down, could probably use another log, but she doesn’t want to move because she isn’t alone on the couch, Caroline is beside her in the firelight, Caroline’s face is bathed in the warm fluttering light, her irises are dark, ink blots of expression that won’t morph into something horrible, no, Caroline isn’t just beside her, Caroline is holding her, embracing her. Gillian’s arms are around Caroline but she can’t feel her hands, she wants to bring Caroline closer to her, tight against her body, everything is moving slow, even the wood in the fire breaks apart in half time, hissing as sparks escape up into the chimney, flashing ashen fireflies into the flue, Caroline is kissing her, how is she kissing her? She kisses Gillian’s mouth, then along her jaw, down her neck, light featherweight kisses like snow falling on snow that dot, dot, dot the landscape of Gillian’s scarred body, she feels Caroline kissing down her neck, along her collarbone, Gillian is both here with Caroline, holding Caroline, and apart from it, observing, she can see Caroline kissing along her throat, watching it happen, seeing herself moving slowly, trying to hold Caroline, to caress her, willing her dull hands to move down Caroline’s body, move up to hold Caroline’s face to kiss her and kiss her, she wants to tell Caroline that she wants her, she wants to tell Caroline, wants Caroline, the words are there in her throat but will not cross the threshold of sound, whatever Caroline wants, she will follow, just don’t stop kissing her. She wants to look in Caroline’s face, be sure this is happening, but her eyes are hidden because she’s nuzzling Gillian’s neck, then down her sternum, kissing, while her fingers are undoing the buttons of her flowered denim shirt, and finally Gillian can speak. She whispers it as a prayer, an incantation and praise of _yes, yes please, please_ while all of Gillian’s movements are a slow syrupy motion, she cannot meet Caroline’s action, she is slow and her hands are numb, but she opens her legs and Caroline moves against her, and in the firelight Caroline’s hair is a flaming crown, the embers are kissing her body, anointing her, _Yes, please, please._

“Gillian? Come back. You’re dreaming, you were moaning. You okay?” Caroline is sitting upright looking worried. Gillian can see the concern on her face in the creeping dawn of morning.

Gillian inhales and blearily looks around. This is Caroline’s room. She is in Caroline’s bed. She sees Caroline’s face as she sleepily blinks back at Gillian. Her hand rests on Gillian’s duvet-covered hip and her hair is in a glorious, sleep-rumpled state. Caroline’s hand is on Gillian’s hip. Her dream comes crashing back into her consciousness and Gillian jerks up toward the padded headboard.

“Caz!” She coughs, sits up suddenly, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Sorry. Yes. I was dreaming.” Gillian exhales softly. She is aware of her slick arousal and can feel a flush in her cheeks and across her chest. She can’t look Caroline in the eye.

Gillian’s shock at being woken and her posture against the bedframe make her look even smaller. Caroline regrets waking her. Gillian had been rocking back and forth in a smooth motion and making a low moaning sound that woke Caroline. Gillian was frowning in her sleep; her face, an ever-expressive canvas that never hides her feelings, was drawn in deep lines that pursed her lips into a pleading expression.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were having a bad dream. A nightmare.” Caroline laughs gently. “Flora had a mess of them before I got the boiler replaced.” She waves a hand in the gray light. “It had been making horrible gurgling noises and Ruth wouldn’t go near the door. Anyway—first she wouldn’t sleep in her bed so she would be with me, and then when the dreams started first she would rock, and that built to thrashing, and, uh—yes, I didn’t want to catch a fist in the face.” She looks embarrassed and shifts her eyes down to her hands.

Gillian’s breathing returns to normal; she relaxes and extends her legs back down into the bed, to lay down again.

  
“Yeah I was dreaming. Sorry. I was back at farm. On the couch in the living room. It were dark, but there was a fire going.”

“That doesn’t sound bad.”

“No, not bad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“S’alright.” Gillian chews her nails. “I think I might get up now anyway.”

“It’s not even 5.”

“Old habits. I’ll make coffee for when you do get up, I’ll read on the balcony.”

“Mmmm,” Caroline’s reply is muffled; she is already being pulled back under into sleep; resting on her side facing Gillian.

Before getting out of bed, Gillian indulges in the sweet fantasy that this is a normal morning. It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamed of Caroline. Even now, it would be easy to take Caroline’s outstretched hand, slide her thigh between her legs, hips over Caroline’s, and nestle her head under her chin. They had fit together easily while dancing. Caroline was leading as soon as she offered her hand. Save for Calamity’s crash, Gillian wouldn’t have stopped dancing.

Then later Caroline had placed her foot in Gillian’s lap; the slight hissing sound she made when the cold pack touched down made something wind up tight, deep within Gillian’s belly. She could feel the weight of Caroline’s leg offered to her, resting in her hands. Caroline had then relaxed; half-lidded eyes, mouth gone slack, further signs of trust—the idea that Caroline trusts Gillian with her body; what a pleasing prospect to think on. 

_It’s easy to give the body; that woman’s heart, though, is too precious for you. You should be happy with what she does give you._ Gillian gets up, uses the bathroom and then goes out to the kitchen to make coffee. She stares at the pages of a Salvador Dali biography for a few hours, until everyone was up for the day at the beach.

***

Two and a half hours before they depart for the beach Caroline sits up in bed with the faint memory of waking Gillian from a dream. She finds Gillian dressed and on the balcony, her book laying on the chair with the bookmark firmly in place, further than it had been yesterday. She scowls at the sidewalk below them.

Gillian hears the balcony door slide open, looks over to register Caroline in her nightshirt, and then looks back down.

“What is it?” In answer to her question, Caroline expects anything in response, from the weather for the day to the hotel attendant at the breakfast bar catching onto Gillian’s pilfering.

“I’m worried about Jean Harlow.”

There has been daily concerned discussion on the welfare of the flock. “Ah. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Raff said she was dizzy. Just laying down all the time, the lambs could come early.” Gillian chews on a nail; scouring the street below.

“Okay, well, if they do come, Raff can handle it, right?”

“Guess so.”

“So.” Caroline steps up to the balcony rail with Gillian. Not thinking that she’s dressed in her nightshirt, she sidles up beside the perpetual early riser; clasps her hands together while looking down to the street where Gillian was focused. A flower vendor is opening shop. “I would have thought that I was the control freak on this trip.”

Gillian circles her arm around Caroline’s, a gesture she’s done countless times before, “You are, that’s how we have a timetable for the beach.”

“We’re maximizing our time,” and with a gentle hip nudge to Gillian that rocks her to the side, Caroline smiles, “Do we dare wake them to make a start?”

Gillian is torn, wanting to extend the moment, she has Caroline’s attention that feels like a star shining on her, but then the morning sun crests over the city profile and lights Caroline for the celestial creature she is, illuminating the white of her night shirt to her lovely blond crown, and the song is on her lips before she can stop it.

“Just call me Angel of the morning, Angel,” Gillian sings closing her eyes. “Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.” She opens her eyes to extend her hand to Caroline’s cheek, but Caroline’s face is a series of questions, starting with, “What?”

“You know that song, Caz?” she recovers, sliding her hands into her back pockets.

“Yup.”

“I was just reminded of it. You know… you’re wearing a… like a white shirt- thing” Gillian plows on.

“I’ll just go wake the girls, shall I?” Caroline gives a perplexed look and steps back through the door to the suite.

“You have blond hair. It’s angelic.” Gillian says to herself, while thinking of the song lyrics:

_Maybe the sun's light will be dim_

_And it won't matter anyhow_

_If morning's echo says we've sinned_

_It was what I wanted now_

**Part 2 -** El Mar, El Mar, El Mar Azul Profundo

Deanne, in all her wisdom, planned 2 rest days where nothing significant was planned for the West Yorkshire crew. Today, Day 5, is the first, followed by Day 8. It was predetermined that this particular free day would be spent at a beach, so once again, the destination and accommodations are taken care of, and all the group needs to do is be in the hotel lobby at the appropriate time.

Hours later, the crew stands on the beach armed with a rented umbrella and a lunch in a hamper that could feed 5 adults, which had been presented to Caroline like the arc of the covenant. As they had waited for a car to transport them to the beach, Gillian looked as if she expected TV cameras to pop out from the bushes. Once on the beach proper, Gillian jumps forward to carry the massive basket to wherever they camp, wrestling it away from Caroline, who acquiesces quickly to enjoy the backside of heretofore unseen cut-offs made from her tight farm jeans, whose knees she had busted through one too many times. Paired with a thread-bare plaid that hadn’t been used in years. She is still completely Gillian, but more energetic, enthusiastic, more authentically herself than when she is at home.

Caroline follows with the umbrella, Flora holds a pail for water, and Calamity swings about the bag of towels. Once their spot is established, Caroline looks to their view—a wide open sprawl of beach with a few other campers here and there, but mostly vacant and the water: a glorious dancing of aqua, green, and blue rolling on mild waves.

Generous helpings of sun cream are applied all around and Gillian races the girls to the water— bestowing on Caroline another gift as she literally wiggles out of her shorts before hanging them in the umbrella. Her swimsuit is a simple, a navy blue one-piece with a white band straight across the bust, but the fluid motion of the disrobing more thrilling than any burlesque tease. For a moment, Caroline feels self-conscious in a suit that isn’t even being seen. She had gotten the black one-piece specifically for this vacation, and knows that Gillian is in the same suit she bought for her honeymoon with Robbie.

As they run to the water, Caroline stays behind, watching from the umbrella. Her hat and sunglasses camouflage her gaze, and while with every squeal of Flora and Calamity she does feel lighter, it’s the sight of her stepsister frolicking in the water that threatens to blow her completely skyward. She feels her heart tighten with the emotion of it, and so busies herself with the buttons of her pricey white linen cover-up. Caroline can hear the high-pitched clapping of tiny hands against the roar of the water and looks up to see Gillian’s pointed feet emerging from the ocean momentarily to dive back under, only for her head and chest to rise out meters away from her feet. She is fast. Shining in the water, executing dolphin kicks as if she were part mermaid.

Gillian rises from the water to huddle with Flora and Calamity in the shallow depth; all three then face Caroline and clamor for her to join them in the water. Calamity and Gillian cry “Come on, Aunt Caz!” while Flora chants and claps, “Mummy! Mummy!”

There is no choice, the shimmering canvas calls to her. She nods and waves to stop the cheering, and then reluctantly sheds the armor of cover-up, hat, and sunglasses. Stepping out from under the umbrella, she crosses the sand to enter the strange mirage beckoning with familiar voices.

***

The sun burns through the morning and early afternoon hours and the girls have tired from perfecting their own mermaid kicks. Calamity has taken to drawing pictures in the wet sand with her foot while Flora adorns them with seaweed and shells.

Caroline stands in the ocean up to her waist, facing the beach where the girls play.

“Oh Caz, I think you got more color than you wanted.” Gillian’s voice is surprised and appears beside her fresh from a swim parallel on the coast, now eyeing her back seriously.

“No!” Caroline looks over to her, treading water in barely 3 feet, hands and feet transformed into flippers and fins; she is that natural in water. “I’ve reapplied every hour.”

“Maybe it’s old.” Gillian exhales and stops floating to stand up beside her, changing the subject. “You reckon that, ah, the woman who did the planning on this trip—thinks we’re a couple?” The tone of her voice is neutral, if not a little amused.

“What? No, of course not. Why? I don’t even know if she knows about me.” Caroline starts to scrunch her shoulders towards her ears, testing how the skin feels when tightened.

“Okay, okay. Well, the topless women, I could explain to Calamity.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s been a thing today. Calam was ready to go full on and lose her suit altogether too. But then she saw the women beside us kissing. Then I noticed that all the couples around us.” Gillian squints up into the sky, “There’s been more affection than, what might be—” Another pause while Caroline absorbs the observation. “—customary for friends.” She squeezes a fist under the surface sending up little shoots of water, tiny fountains in a one-woman water show.

“So you think we’re on a _family friendly_ beach?” Caroline leans into the reference, while Gillian moves about in the water, facing her and sitting back, arms moving in wide half circles. She raises her feet, and in a stretch, her toes casually kick in the space between Caroline’s standing knees, pushing a rush of water to the apex of her thighs. _Accidental?_

“I do.” Gillian grins. “I hear there’s a full nudist stretch over on the other side of the dune, if you want to drop all your kit.” She pushes off in the direction of their umbrella while waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Fantastic idea, I’ll meet you there, yeah?” Caroline’s sarcasm is a finely honed blade, which, with a flick, she can slide easily between the ribs of her victims. “I’ll come back to the blanket in a minute, and we can leave.” The tone is serious, they are close to their pickup time go back to the hotel. Gillian nods her head as she paddles backwards and then dives under. Caroline turns away from her and faces the open ocean. Yes, her back is burnt. She can feel the straps of her suit bunching uncomfortably. _Well that’s all right, it’s been such a nice day, the weather, there’s been a breeze, the color of the ocean; I took some pictures. Flora’s following Calamity around like a sister, which means if she were to strip off, Flora would definitely follow._ Now there is an accounting of what she has missed. _Hadn’t noticed the couples around us at all. What was I looking at?_ And guiltily, Caroline knows why she hasn’t seen anyone beyond their group. She’s been watching Gillian. Watching her dream this morning, watching her talk to herself on the balcony after she left the bed. _How did it come this?_ The realization is like her sunburn: unsettling and uncomfortable.

Her heart feels pinched, clamped down. It will have to be addressed. This has been going on for years. Gillian has to know. She hints at things and her normal turnstile of able lads seems to have slowed down to halt. _Who was her last shag?_ Gillian hasn’t mentioned anyone for some time.

Caroline swallows. She cannot dwell in the “Land of If” with Gillian. A few more days, and they can all return home just as it was. She will carry her appreciation for the farmer’s work ethic and its resultant bodily fitness, and now Gillian knows she took dancing lessons. Fair trade. _It doesn’t have to change._

Caroline looks to the horizon, the vanishing point where the sea becomes an intangible distance. The curve of the sky in the horizon, it is all so rich in color; the sky is white and the ocean is blue.

When suddenly her left foot goes ice cold, colder than any brief spot of water passing over. She is shackled to the ocean floor by a manacle on her ankle. There is no moving; glued to the sand, as if the ocean floor has reached out to claim her, a blond barnacle in the sun. It’s not painful, but it’s not pleasant; she can’t move _. This could be the first stage of shock, you just feel cold. Sharks can swim in less than half a meter of water, or a jelly fish sting, maybe a giant squid from the deep_. She tries to see down to her feet but the glare from the sun obscures anything below the surface. The grip is firm and there is no indication it will yield. Caroline waits the eternal seconds for it to pull her under. Unable to move, her left leg is forfeit. Calling for help is futile, it’s happening, it happened. 

This is it. It’s so disappointing to feel happy and know that you can’t express it. In another moment she will be gone, swallowed whole, obliterated by whatever this is. It’s a dumb feeling, a numbness that spreads throughout the body, and she is surprisingly calm while planning: Gillian will take care of Flora, return Calamity to her parents.

And what of Gillian? Who will say to Gillian, _you should have so much more than what you just want._ Or even, _I want you._

Then as suddenly as it appeared, the pressure cuff is gone. Caroline feels a tingling, rush of blood to her foot as she tentatively tries to move from where she was rooted. Directly in front of her there is an arcing explosion and laughter as Gillian bursts through the water.

“Oh my God, Caz! You didn’t move! You froze!” Then seeing Caroline’s face, the laughter dies in her throat, as she rushes forward to assure Caroline. “I’m sorry! Oh, that was so stupid, I was just messing about, I don’t know why, I’m so sorry, Caz. Caz?” The mirth is gone, and now she is pleading with Caroline. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Caroline is standing an arm’s length away, a space that could separate their bodies or join them in an embrace. She sees the concern in Gillian’s eyes. Hears the heightened pitch to her voice. Water droplets are flowing from her hair in rivulets down her face. She is breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. The sky is white, the ocean is blue. Gillian is before her, both an anchor to all things real in her life and some mystical siren calling to an unknown plain.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Come on, let’s get everything together,” Caroline’s tone is calm and otherwise unreadable.

She turns away from Gillian, who is still stammering out apologies and drowning in her own wave of self-reproach. Gillian cannot be allowed to touch her. Caroline is too raw, she is transparent; a simple touch will bring everything crashing down. Caroline will be revealed utterly, feelings, desires, there will be no going back, no excusing of intent. She won’t be able to dismiss it as friendship or familial bond. It will be undeniable, and it will burn everything in the ocean.

**Part 3** \- Una Langosta Bañada en Yogur

Gillian spends the entirety of the car ride and the following hour of sorting, unpacking, and clean-up at the hotel both trying to search Caroline’s face and studiously avoiding any eye contact.

It was stupid. And the worst of it is she doesn’t know why she did it. It was a nice day and they were getting along well; they had kind of sort of flirted over the nude beach. Not that Caroline would ever go. But she had seemed surprised that they were on the gay beach. _She really hadn’t noticed._ Caroline knows everything, but her head has seemed to be elsewhere on their daily excursions, including today. She hadn’t noticed she was getting burnt either.

Still, it was a stupid move, childish. She could have popped up in front of her without grabbing her ankle. _She probably thought she was going to die._ Stupid. _No one can accuse you of thinking things through, can they?_ Caroline had turned her back to her while wading out and Gillian had sunk under the surface to scream for as long as she could. It didn’t help. She felt terrible for ruining the day.

Now, back in the hotel she has managed to shower and is running a comb through Calamity’s hair while Flora’s building a castle wall from the pillows on the couch. The TV is tuned to the Spanish version of _Dark Shadows_ and flickers in the background. Calamity trills any ‘r’ within her current vocabulary.

Gillian is beginning to anticipate not having Caroline speak to her for the rest of the trip, fortifying her will and the loneliness that bumps up against it, when she hears her name called as a question from the bedroom they shared the prior evening.

Handing the comb over to her granddaughter, she’s not at all surprised that it becomes a microphone for Calamity to begin singing an imitation of ”Blame it on Barcelona.” With the girls settled for the moment, she crosses the room, knocks on the door and, after a pause, enters.

Caroline sits on the bed clad in her bra and billowy linen pants, while clutching her shirt to her chest.

“You’re right. My back is burnt. I can’t reach it, it’s a miracle I got the bra fastened. Can you please—” She trailed off to look at the bottles of After Sun and aloe gel.

  
“Yeah, of course.” Gillian springs into action, grabbing the tubes. “Could you, do you mind moving to the bathroom? I want to be able to see.”

Caroline nods, rising from the bed, and follows Gillian into the brightly lit bathroom to stop in front of the sink and mirror. Standing sideways, Gillian can see Caroline’s back and face in profile at the same time. 

“Oh, Caz.” Gillian frowns, sympathetic and tender as she was the night before. “You’ve gone full solar flare.” She holds her hand just above, lightly skimming the air space above the skin of Caroline’s back, feeling the heat radiate; pricking her palm. “ _Mon petit homard,_ which do you prefer, the After Sun or aloe?”

“Start with the After Sun.” Caroline’s voice sounds dry, ready to crack.

Gillian nods, and focuses her efforts at the top of the shoulders where the burn is the worst. Her suit has saved her from complete immolation, there are white lines where her bra can sit, but from above the strap mid-back to the spot where Gillian had zippered and circled her thumb on Caroline’s body was now too sensitive for anything.

“I’m really sorry for scaring you earlier.”

“It’s okay. I had just realized something, and then there you were. It was the last thing I expected.”

“Oh.” Gillian sits with the thought for a moment. “What did you realize?” Gillian’s fingers move slowly, gently over Caroline’s skin. She feels the muscles of her back relax, drooping slightly and she is again a shadow curling to shape of Caroline’s body.

“Why do you think After Sun smells like kids yoghurt snacks? My whole back will smell like one of Flora’s afternoon nibbles.”

“I think I have one in the fridge, if you want to compare.” Gently sniffing, Gillian leans forward. The blistered skin has warmed the lotion and now gives off a slight fragrance. She fights the compulsion to lick up Caroline’s unburned, freshly showered neck to her ear. “I’m getting strawberry,” comes out hoarsely as she struggles to control her senses. “The one we have is blueberry. Are you hungry?”

“A bit. Yes.”

Gillian nods in acknowledgement, as she tries to not rub the cream into Caroline’s bra straps. 

“You know,” Caroline’s voice picking up in brightness, “you really did look like a mermaid swimming. Graceful. You’ll have to take Flora swimming when we get home. Teach her those moves.”

Gillian feels something release inside. She’s been forgiven. What’s more, she’ll be included again.

“Can do. If you do something for me.” A side glance to the mirror catches Caroline’s eyes in the reflection. “Well, two things—you should come, I’ll show you too.” _Where was this boldness coming from?_

“What’s the second?”

“Tell your mum we went to the nude beach?”

Gillian Sings:

[Angel of the Morning – Juice Newton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTzGMEfbnAw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that do not hable Español (this includes me – I double checked my translations because my Dad taught me barrio Spanish, and that does NOT pass a year 1 Spanish test):
> 
> Chapter 2: Where is the Beach?
> 
> Part 1: An Uncertain Dream
> 
> Part 2: The Sea, the sea, the deep blue sea
> 
> Part 3: A Lobster Smothered in Yoghurt
> 
> **French** Gillian calls Caroline - “my little lobster”


	3. En el Exterior Mirando Hacia Adentro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the sunburn doesn't pass quietly, and then who doesn't love the Aquarium?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I have not had the pleasure of touring Spain, and I fully trust that the L’Aquarium de Barcelona is a fantastic site – I am familiar with the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, USA. It rocks. All aquariums rock, but the tanks described here are based off of experiences at the National Aquarium.

Parte Uno: Luces Azules Parpadeantes

Gillian has been lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the smooth canvas of ceiling painted over in dancing shadows from the lights outside. The minimalist animation doesn’t register as she is reliving the afternoon: floating in the ocean next to Caroline, laughing, her shoulders holding the ache from swimming down the coast and back, forcing a sprint at the end to catch Caroline by herself. She can feel the electricity of her body within reach, glowing even before her sunburn becomes obvious. Gillian can feel the sting of saltwater in her nose when the siren goes off, followed by strobing white lights to signify an emergency: a fire drill. Calamity wriggles and softly mewls as she sits up in bed, squinting around the room.

“Come on love, put on your shoes, we’re going to go outside.” Gillian has already slid on sneakers and is stuffing a throw into the pillowcase of one of the decorative pillows from the bed. She forces her arms through the plaid flannel she wore during the day and joins Caroline in the common area. She has already retrieved their wallets from the safe, turned on a lamp by the couch, and put on the same flowy linen pants from earlier. Her movements are careful and hint at the stiffness in her shoulders.

  
“Were you asleep?”

“Just, I think,” Caroline yawns. She has found her shoes and hands Gillian the wallets, both of which then go into their daypack that is snugged onto her plaid back.

“Right, Miss Flora? Are you ready? We’re going on an adventure.” Gillian smoothly takes the sleepy Flora in her arms. “Cover your ears, okay?” She hands the overstuffed pillow to Calamity. “Miss Lady, hold Aunt Caz’s hand.” Gillian nudges Caroline to the door with Calamity in the lead, then herself with Flora. People are filtering out into the hallway as she checks the lock on their suite door, the exterior of the room awash in flashing daylight with an ear-splitting alarm. Caroline stops to give Gillian a questioning look.

“If you follow Calamity, I can make sure no one touches your back,” she clarifies. Then, in illustration of their partnership, she takes Caroline’s free hand in her own. The flannel shepherdess has created a buffer between Caroline and anyone who might try to crowd their way into or around the group.

The blaring klaxon and stuttering lights throw odd shadows on the hallway walls as sleeping guests in various states of dress and irritation make their way to the fire exits. As the group walks through the floor and down descending levels, Gillian compares it to flipping channels on a television where each room is a new situation with lighting and characters, set against similar-looking scenery. Caroline keeps hold of Gillian’s hand, negotiating the stairs and guiding Calamity. 

Out into the night they emerge, through the doors onto the sidewalk; ants from the colony. The velvet night sky is held aloft by the apex of rooves, church spires, and diffused street lights. The air is cool, and carries the light din of the city to them as they walk from the hotel to a small cluster of trees with benches. Gillian takes the pillow from Calamity and shakes the small throw blanket from it, handing the pillow to Caroline to sit on or to cushion her from contact with the bench. Then, laying the blanket on the ground, she sits cross-legged at Caroline’s feet and announces they will have a night picnic.

“What’s a night picnic, Gran?”

“Oh well, it’s something that happens very rarely, but it’s where you go outside after the sun goes down, and you sit on a blanket in the grass, and you drink tea. Flora, did you bring the tea?”

Flora, looking confused shakes her head. “No.”

“No? I forgot to give it to you! Caz, you didn’t remind me.”

“I’m sorry, Flora. I forgot to remind your nutter of an aunt to bring tea.” Caroline tentatively leans back on the pillow between her and the bench. Gillian has positioned herself to shield Caroline’s shin, while sitting in such an arrangement that Caroline is included and can make eye contact with everyone.

“Alright then, next time, yes?” Gillian’s game is interrupted by flashing blue lights mounted on a firetruck accompanied by another aggressively loud siren. The lights throw the façades of the buildings around them into a moving relief, a moving sculpture before swallowing the lit shapes in shadow to replay the illumination again and again. Light and sound again flood the senses as the surrounding buildings echo the noise and it reverberates inside their chests. The shrill alarm is cut off without warning while the lights continue. The sudden silence expands, filling the space with awkward, deafening quiet. Gillian gives Caroline an uneven smile, as they all stop to watch the newly arrived firemen enter their hotel without urgency.

“It’s a false alarm.” Caroline pronounces. “Maybe someone pulled the fire bar in one of the hallways.”

“Maybe. Maybe someone was trying to get out of a meeting.”

“A meeting at 1 in the morning?”

“Sure. Could happen.”

“Gran, why would you have a meeting at night?”

“If you were going to go on a night picnic. Flora, are you tired?” The little girl nods and crawls over to Gillian to sit on her lap.

Caroline watches as Gillian hold out her arms to Flora who settles herself easily. She loves her aunt, and such a powerful wave of affection washes over her that she almost cups Gillian’s face or touches the back of her neck, as if they are already together. Instead, she changes the subject to the ever-alert Calamity.

“What do you want to see tomorrow at the aquarium, Calamity?”

“A whale.”

A half hour later and the firetruck has gone, leaving another void where the blue lights had cast alternating roving shadows, that in their absence make the still night sky and streetscape appear dull and inadequate. Gillian gets to her feet, her knees snapping briskly with the sleeping Flora, while Calamity assists Caroline with folding up the blanket.

Shuffling back to the hotel entrance, Gillian again positions herself behind Caroline. 

“Caz, did you want another layer of aloe?” 

At the mention of the gel, Caroline’s whole body rebels starting with her back. A flaring heat roils through her, raising her temperature to an unbearable state. The thought of Gillian’s hands on her again; she cannot trust herself to be alone with Gillian.

“I’m okay, barely feel it,” she lies.

Once back in the suite, Flora and Calamity both go back to bed with surprising ease, considering the evening’s racket and activity. Gillian pours a small glass of white wine and swirls the remainder of the bottle towards Caroline in invitation.

  
“Go ahead, then.”

Gillian brings the glasses and joins her on the couch. They sit in amiable silence for some time.

“Where did you come up with the idea of a night picnic?”

Gillian chuckles lightly. “Oh, that’s an old idea. I just substituted tea for whiskey or wine.”

“I see.” Caroline realizes that deep down under the years of work and frustration and disappointment, beneath the hurt and pain and heartbreak, Gillian is still a bit of a romantic. “The girls will now want to go camping, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

Caroline is flooded in emotion. She could tell Gillian now, sitting beside her in the dark. She could tell Gillian that she has been pushing down this feeling for some time, for years now, but if Gillian feels the same way—does she feel the same way? If she doesn’t that’s okay, just never mind, but what if she does? What if Caroline didn’t imagine that she felt Gillian’s heartbeat race while holding her dancing? What if every time Gillian has taken Caroline’s hand or her arm, what if with every touch Gillian’s telling Caroline she’s right—that there is something there?

“Is there another bottle of wine?” Caroline whispers.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you want to go on a night picnic?” The syllables slide into the night where there is no taking them back.

The answer Caroline receives is a light snore from Gillian.

She is relieved, even as disappointment coats the back of her throat.

Parte Dos: Vida Bajo el Agua

Like their previous planned activities so far in Spain, the L’Aquarium de Barcelona begins with Caroline checking in, which leads to an enthusiastic liaison officer coming out to brief the group on their experience for the day, and awarding everyone with wrist bands or passes that hang like medals for completing the tour around their necks. Today’s contact Isabella, appears from a door that leads to a bank of guest service booths. She is young with smooth skin and dark hair in a tailored suit jacket and skirt, her smile displays straight white teeth.

“Doctor McKenzie-Dawson, thank you so much for visiting today,” she purrs in lightly accented English.

Caroline smiles and steps forward in acknowledgement. Isabella hands over four lapel pins, vouchers for the aquatic feeding time experience and the Aquarium Restaurant. “Please feel free to ask for me if you have any questions or if you require anything.” She pauses to look over at Calamity, who is standing with her legs as far apart as she can manage, hands and arms parallel to the ground, while Flora runs circles around her singing something tuneless and clapping each hand with a pass. “You have a beautiful family! The girls are so lucky.” She says beaming while also looking over to Gillian, who is hugging herself. As Caroline absorbs what is being inferred, Gillian comes over and takes the tickets from her presumptive wife.

“Wha-No,–” Caroline sputters as Gillian smoothly wraps her arm about Caroline’s waist, cinching the two of them together and interrupts.

“Thank you so much. They can be a handful though, can’t they?” She motions with her head towards Calamity and Flora, both of who are now doing star jumps in place. “Where did you say the canteen was?”

Now Caroline is sputtering for a different reason entirely. Gillian’s easy smile charms Isabella thoroughly and with her hand still on Caroline’s hip, her thumb travels in small circles, gently kneading. Gillian isn’t running away from the looks or the association—she’s owning it.

***

The cerulean glow of the shark tank is calming and otherworldly. The surrounding exterior is covered in dark, sound-dampening carpet. This results in an enclosed feeling that presents each tank as an open screen for viewing, and like in a theatre, speech among patrons is lowered, disclosed like a secret directly into the ear. 

There are three different species of sharks swimming clockwise in the tank, passing again and again and again, while a lone nurse shark swims counterclockwise at the bottom of the tank, inches above the floor at a slower speed. The girls, completely mesmerized by the effortless gliding and toothy, open-mouthed stare, press themselves up against the glass trying to see more, their fingers outstretched reaching for what cannot be touched.

Caroline stands behind everyone, she has been watching all three today. Her back feels better, but even so, she has created a small bubble between her and the wall, too small for someone to squeeze through, but enough that there is room. Standing in front of her is Gillian, cropped pants showing her small sharp ankles; she is carrying the daypack not wearing it, allowing Caroline to covertly ogle her backside again.

With a casual glance Gillian looks behind her, clocking Caroline’s position, only to face front again, looking at the girls. She then takes three blind steps backward, three calculated, determined steps, stopping a breath away from Caroline. Now there are inches that separate them, and Caroline can feel the heat coming off of Gillian’s body. Then Gillian closes the gap completely. She gently steps back into Caroline, a converse shod left foot between both of hers, standing flush against Caroline’s front, buzzing energy radiating from everywhere they touch. The smell of Gillian’s clean hair and innate body chemistry sing of fresh air and the wild outdoors. She smells like sunlight and salt and life.

While inhaling this heady ambrosia, Gillian turns her head in profile, the slight pursing of her lips a precursor of her thinking about the words that will follow. Caroline leans forward to receive the message without realizing she is doing so.

“I don’t mind being mistaken as yours.” Gillian pauses, looks up into Caroline’s eyes, then away as she leans her head back into Caroline, extending her face to the ceiling while baring her neck. She is stalwart and vulnerable; dizzying to behold.

Inside Caroline’s head, Gillian is standing in the center of the room, while the aquarium walls burst and water rushes in. Caroline is drowning with only Gillian as the anchor she can cling to, or the siren that will pull her further and deeper away. Gillian’s eyes are the color of the water, her hair fans out, she swims like a mermaid and reaches for Caroline.

That’s when Caroline’s body betrays her, an arm moving independently to snake around Gillian’s waist completing the embrace. She is about to kiss Gillian’s throat when she remembers they are not alone.

“We can’t do this now.” The words come out strangled and hoarse.

Gillian turns around to face Caroline and lightly runs her nose up the outside of Caroline’s neck, inhaling with her eyes closed. When she opens her eyes, Caroline is truly out of her depth.

“But you know.” Gillian’s eyes; the wide ocean wash over Caroline, confirming what hasn’t been said.

“Gran?” Calamity calls without looking away from the tank.

“Yes, chicken?” She steps away from Caroline, breaking the spell.

“Do sharks blink?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so. Do you think they have eyelashes?”

“Gillian?” Caroline murmurs, sure that the sound is swallowed up by the muted surroundings. However Gillian possess the same acute hearing as her sheepdog, because she looks over to Caroline in expectation. There is no follow-up, she is looking at both question and answer.

Unconsciously moving, her legs carry her to the next section over, where sea turtles and sting rays both drift by regularly. Their fins break the water’s surface, a rising shell forms a temporary island. Soft underbellies scrape against the glass. A ray passes sideways, its mouth and nostrils forming an amiable grin that wiggles past in an absurd parade.

Caroline does know.

Looking back, she has been reading their history to her benefit. She has been reinterpreting actions that triggered questions and feelings, because her explanation allowed more freedom as a friend or stepsister. She could appreciate how nice Gillian looked in a dress at dinner because they are friends, the butterflies that swarmed in her stomach every time the shepherdess took her hand wasn’t because of attraction, but affirmed affection (and alcohol). She has taken everything Gillian has offered her without examination, while at the same time conveniently labeling everything “platonic.”

She had dissected her own emotions, pulling them apart, boiling them down until they no longer represented her whole desire. By doing this, she has been able to deny what the truth is; in viewing it in a reduced state and magnified to a granular level, the whole became unrecognizable.

However the storm has passed over the ocean, waves reaching deep to upturn and litter the beach with what was hidden below the surface. Gillian’s eyes, the color of the becalmed blue sea that delivered Caroline to shore, hold the power to sweep her back out again. Caroline knows you cannot tame the ocean, you can only stand in awe of its power and yield to the tide. 

Either way: lost at sea or stranded on shore, it’s Gillian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Chapter Title: On the Outside Looking In  
> Part 1: Flashing Blue Lights  
> Part 2: Life Underwater


	4. A Siesta to Remember

**Part 1** – **Después; Antes**

Lunch in the attached Aquarium Café had been quiet. At least Caroline was quiet, focused on picking at her salad. Gillian was engrossed in finding bread to pocket for her bag. The girls chattered happily through the whole meal, oblivious that their caretakers were sitting on opposite sides of the table, not making eye contact, while still furtively watching each other.

Calamity declared she now wanted to study sharks, and could she be a shark farmer rather than keep sheep like Gran?

“I don’t know, Calam. You couldn’t do it in Yorkshire. I do know that.”  
  


“Why?”

“Well, you couldn’t keep them in a pond or nothing, you’d need saltwater.”

“You can put salt in the water.” Calamity was matter-of-fact.

“True, but it’s not the same.” Gillian floundered a bit, trying to explain the difference when Caroline met her eyes in an amused look that asked where was she going with this.

“Well, you know, your Aunt Caz is a chemist, and she could explain it much better than I can.” Gillian punted the ball back to Caroline, deftly smiling as Caroline’s mouth dropped open.

“But that’s Biology, not—”

After the meal, and back in the hotel, Gillian put the girls in her bed with _Finding Dory_ on as a white-noise filter, and within 10 minutes they were both asleep for a much-needed siesta.

While her counterpart was pre-occupied with their mini travel chaperones, Caroline busied herself with tidying the hotel suite. Gillian’s book on Salvador Dali was precariously close to the edge of the coffee table from earlier in the morning, and as she rescued it, placing it in the safer center, an envelope fell from the pages. At first nervous that she’d lost the bookmark, she picked it up, only to be confused upon finding an actual ribbon in the book for Gillian’s page, she then examined the envelope to discover notes in the farmer’s handwriting. There were page numbers, commentary on layered meaning in paintings, techniques for getting color, and—she was stunned to find—poetry.

_The sun held you tight_

_And kissed you at the_ _centre of your back_

_Where you can't reach,_

_I will hold —_

The last line was scrawled over, still looking for its final phrase.

Guiltily she replaced the envelope between the back cover and last page and returned both to the table.

Gillian emerged from her room, pleased that the girls had been agreeable to the movie, to find Caroline on the sofa, blond hair framing her face; a crown in the sun. She was a queen looking for a consort, or lioness seeking its prey. Her majesty locked eyes and spoke. “We should talk.”

Gillian’s stomach dropped. _When has talking about something like this ever made a situation better?_ “If you’d like. Won’t change things.”

“Won’t change what?”

“Feelings. You have them, you don’t have them. That _spark_. What you want. Talking won’t change owt.”

“Are you saying you have feelings?”

In response, Gillian met her eyes. It was a raw look, pleading for Caroline to stop asking questions.

“Okay. How long?”

Her face faded into something both resigned and sad. “A while. Before Olga.”

Caroline inhaled sharply, surprised. This information smarted; she hadn’t realized. “I’m sorry, I never….”

“No, please don’t say that, I don’t want to hear that—I haven’t said anything that should change. I can’t lose what we do have, Caz. Will not lose that.” Gillian raised her voice a bit, the strain of emotion cracking it at the end. Her eyes roamed the room wildly, and she seemingly vibrated with the struggle to remain in place, as if walking out would erase the entire interaction.

“Gillian, I never noticed. I’m sorry I never noticed.” Caroline leaned forward.

“Don’t want your sorry. You didn’t have to.” The blue green eyes focused on the cover of her book on the table between them. Gillian's handwriting could be seen on the envelope peeking out from the back cover. She clenched her hands tightly into fists on her knees.

“Could you wait for a minute, I’m trying to tell you I—have feelings—too. For you. Numpty.”

Gillian blinked. Time paused. Her fists unfurled themselves. Shafts of afternoon sun streamed in through the balcony, cut by the door frame, casting each woman in their own rectangle of light.

“Numpty? Real nice.”

“You kept interrupting.” Caroline said gently.

“I don’t think I do well with rejection.” Gillian stood up and crossed over to the bar to busy herself with uncorking a bottle.

Caroline’s hands fell open on her thighs. Of course, her stepsister would think she was being rejected first. “What do you want?”

The question was aimed at Gillian’s back, which immediately stiffened, then her shoulders rolled forward and down in exhalation. There was a moment, then another, but Gillian couldn’t find words. She shook her head to decline.

In a regal motion, Caroline rose from the couch and disappeared into her room.

**Part 2 - Flannel**

The summer of Robbie and Gillian’s wedding, the summer that Flora and Caroline went to New York for the first time, was thereafter referred to as the “Jet-Setting Summer.” While Gillian sent texts of Majorca to Caroline, the head teacher responded with pictures of ludicrously fat pigeons; coffee shops, and Flora trying Jell-O with a dubious face, followed by the aftermath where a slap of approval splattered the dessert about the table.

One evening while exploring Soho on her own, Caroline encountered an REI store, a massive outdoor goods store incongruous within the city; camping among steel and concrete trees beside asphalt rivers. Curious, she entered. The store catered to seemingly every outdoor activity while being equally enthusiastic about all of them. Inside, and across from an indoor rock climbing wall, was the women’s apparel section. Although there were sweaters, pants, socks and shoes for all seasons, Caroline was drawn to a wall of long-sleeved shirts; flannels of every color and pattern, all celebrating the coming fall.

The shirts hung, cascading down in stripes and cuffs. A plaid with a cream background interwoven with a thin green line, coupled with thicker blue and red rows caught Caroline’s eye. The shirt boasted reinforced elbows and two wide pockets, one on either side of the buttoned placket. It was the sort of shirt that would look best on a sheep farmer and not on a school’s head teacher. Although for an instant, she did imagine following Gillian out to the fields, to whistle shrilly at the dog and see the sheep turn and move as one in the grass. Determined, she paged through the hangars for the correct size, and made the purchase. Caroline stowed it in her luggage and, once home, hid it in a box under the bed to be kept until Christmas.

Christmas day came. Caroline and Flora bundled off to Gillian’s to be caught up in a blur of paper shredding and ribbon, holiday crackers and food. Holding the shirt aloft, Gillian exclaimed she loved it, and proceeded to put it on over her clothes to wear as a coat against the chill that blew in through the never-locked front door. The cream background played nicely against her skin tone, and the family commented on how the interweaving of red, blue, and green made Gillian’s eyes sparkle, accenting both their green and blue nature. 

While washing dishes together after dinner, while everyone else played charades in the living room, Gillian shyly offered a dripping dessert plate to Caroline’s tea-towel covered hand.

“I like this, Caz. Thank you.” Gillian’s eyes flitted up to catch the blonde’s eyes for a moment before shifting back to the buttons of her new shirt.

“I’m glad. I really am.” Caroline laughed. “Because I can’t return or exchange it without doing quite a lot of work.” 

Gillian looked up with the question of “What?” 

Caroline confessed, “I bought it months ago over the summer, when I was in New York. I saw it, and knew,” she paused slightly to ask again, “It’s okay?” She reached over and absently pulled on the front placket of the shirt as if judging the size.

The brunette nodded.

“Good. Good. I wanted to get you something smart.”

Gillian turned back to the dishes, laughing lightly. “It will look very smart under my coveralls.”

The shirt began to appear regularly in Gillian’s wardrobe, making appearances for Sunday family suppers or spontaneous drinks at the local.

***

Two years later, when March was five days from being April, Caroline was at the farm on a Saturday as part of an arranged day to keep her out of her own house and fully distracted by sheep and their antics. On that count, it had been a success. Gillian spun tales of the serious interpersonal relationships and history of any and all ovine that wandered into view. They’d had a cracking lunch that included digging into the medicinal brandy. That the host happened to be wearing what she considered the “Caroline Plaid” was purely chance.

Hours later, as the guest prepared to depart Far Slack Farm, turning her key in the ignition caused the jeep to sputter and cough dramatically, while issuing forth a black plume of smoke from the front.

“Caz, turn it off and pop the bonnet.” Gillian jumped forward to the front of the car and lifted the hood latch. 

Caroline did so, and watched from the obstructed view behind her steering wheel as her stepsister dragged a crate to the driver’s side wheel, stood on it and disappeared behind the propped bonnet to examine the engine. She could see Gillian’s waist flex as her denim-clad rear shifted in profile.  
  


Sitting in the car while Gillian continued her examination of the engine felt odd, and so Caroline exited and walked around the front to lean against the barn wall and watch the farmer-come-auto-mechanic at work. Gillian spoke to herself as if both instructing and insulting her own deduction skills. Her voice took on the tone of an educator with a student past all hope, “Alright so dark smoke rules out the radiator and antifreeze. Yeah, no shit Sherlock, what else do you know? Don’t touch that. Oil cap is dry, but loose. Is that whistling?”

“Is it too hot?” Caroline wondered aloud, as if the brief start would be enough to raise the temperature of the block as hot as it has been when she’d arrived.

“No, I just have to stay away from the-,“ Gillian gestured with her index finger toward a metal cap while turning to look at Caroline. Her shirt was open at her throat, four buttons done, and the last button undone leaving the bottom loose to flap gently in the wind. However, with her torso twisting the shirt front slid down between the engine and the car shell. The addition of having an interested audience was new, and led to the inevitable: the pointing finger touched the metal cap it had been meant to avoid, searing a blister and sending Gillian upwards in shock. Her body jerked up, smacking the back of her head so hard on the hood of the car, glittering stars flashed before her eyes. “Ffff… Bloody pillock!” 

Jumping down from the crate she cradled her head with the unaffected hand, all while waving the burned finger. With the sudden descent from the car body, there was a ripping noise. As soon as Gillian moved in pain, Caroline yelped; leaping forward to assist. She managed to herd the writhing mechanic up to the house, ice the blistered hand, and check that her head wasn’t bleeding. All while handling Gillian’s arguments that just because Caroline had a doctorate, she couldn’t say for sure whether or not she was concussed.

Finally satisfied there wasn’t serious injury, the chemist drew Gillian’s attention to her shirt. The right front hung at an odd angle with a diagonal black grease mark. Jumping down from her perch on the crate had snagged the fabric and now the shirt was torn from the armpit in a downward angle down, taking a pocket with it.

“Oh Gillian, I…” Caroline gently placed the corner of the fabric up to the genesis of the tear, making sure not to touch exposed skin. Gillian’s flat stomach moved smoothly as her breathing returned to normal. Her stomach was pale compared to her tan hands.

“I really liked this shirt,” She said in a small voice, almost to herself. While Caroline shook her head and let go of the dangling front.

“Are you okay?”

“Will be.” Gillian’s voice changed tone, she was processing, looking through Caroline, as if completely disassociating from the moment. “Tell you what though, you’re going to need a new car. This will take you another few months or so, if you’re careful. Something to think about.” She took a breath, and then returned, meeting the blue eyes with a weak smile. “Thank you for helping. I’m really glad you came today – it was good to see you.”

“I hope I didn’t disrupt your work too long.” Caroline felt guilty now, as if she had ruined the shirt herself.

“Not at all, you are always welcome. Anytime.” Gillian held the shirt in place at her armpit and waved with her blistered hand. 

**Part 3 - Foil**

Two months before their shared birthday party, Gillian was contemplating what sort of gift she could give Caroline. It was a milestone birthday: Five Oh.

Caroline was a woman of taste and substance. A woman of culture and sophistication who thought slumming it was sleeping with the proprietor of a liquor distributor; a bath balm would not cut it as an appropriate present. Any item that might be worthy of Caroline, combined with being something the snotty bitch might actually want, put most potential offerings out of a price range that Gillian could afford.

Despite the milestone, Gillian was not terribly excited about her own birthday. She had managed through half a century. She got through school, but nothing beyond. Two failed marriages. She had killed a man. She had born a son. She was a grandmother (that still didn’t feel or sound right to her). She had watched her mother deteriorate until she didn’t recognize her daughter anymore, and then she had buried her. She had moved her father into her home, and watched as he married a woman she never knew existed. She owned a farm with sheep that somehow wasn’t completely underwater with repayments at the moment. She had somehow survived 50 years, but she didn’t want to celebrate herself. She wanted to celebrate her stepsister.

Even if she didn’t agree herself, Caroline was accomplished. She had gone through the half century elegantly. She had borne tragedy and injustice and ridiculous circumstances gracefully. She had made serious life changes and decisions, and had moved forward without seemingly to flail for a moment. While Gillian knew that Caroline wasn’t always the confident façade she put on display, thanks to their birthday club of two, their friendship grew and deepened with each year. 

Although Gillian had done a decent job in the past of getting gifts that had been vocally appreciated, she knew the true way to flatter Caroline would be to get her something she wanted, but would never ask for. A luxury. If there was anything more luxurious than some new whatsit for her Aga, then surely it came in liquid form. With bubbles.

Fortunately, Gillian had an in with someone who knew Caroline’s taste in wine, and who might be willing to assist, even though this same person also possessed carnal knowledge of Caroline, and their second breakup, although still amicable, was definitely definitive. 

One month prior to their shared birthday family dinner, Gillian found her way into the _Bottoms Up!_ Shop, and was both nervous and happy to see a cheerful Olga behind the counter, sampling a Riesling to American tourists. Gillian nodded “Hello” to the blond in yoga leggings and her impossibly fit partner, whose biceps strained their spandex sleeves. Insecurity swept through her as she looked down at her own about-town coat and denim but Olga, after a second of earnest gazing, broke into a giant grin of recognition and held up a finger to signify she would be over momentarily. 

Gillian took a seat at the bar that had large steel buckets at either end. The bar itself was a highly polished, rich looking mahogany, a honeyed word that felt full in her mouth, descriptive in its mouthfeel. She saw the pale echo of her hand’s reflection follow the soaring motion as she ran it over the surface. Olga left the bottle with the couple and approached Gillian. Aware she was under scrutiny, she sat up straighter and ran her fingers through her hair. Olga dressed differently when she was working in the shop versus making deliveries, wearing a loose red sweater that showed both her collarbones and midriff, paired with snug black pants, and black boots that just hugged her lower thighs. Gillian took in the whole outfit just as she knew she was also being evaluated by Olga’s smiling and roving eyes.

“Gillian! Haven’t seen you in ages.” Olga’s face flashed something related to regret or pain, but like a cloud that briefly covers the sun, the emotion was replaced with cheer. She leaned in close and picked a stray hair from Gillian’s shoulder, then in a singular motion put an empty glass in front of her and filled it with a rosé. “What can I do for you?”

Gillian liked Olga. She was easy to talk to when they’d met at Celia’s play. She didn’t care what people thought of displays of affection—she had kissed Caroline right there in the audience, even as the house lights came up. She could see the appeal Olga held—personality, fit, and that she was able to keep her paramours enamored with her ability to supply high-end drink couldn’t have hurt.

With Caroline’s move to Huddersfield, there had been an attempt at a clean break. However after crashing the housewarming dinner bearing wine, and then attending the play, the two continued to see each other until just after Valentine’s Day. A week after the break up was final, Gillian had sat across from Caroline at dinner, listening to the postmortem: “It wasn’t going to go anywhere. I like her. But—” Caroline had paused, mentally going through the “con” part of a relationship list with Olga. “She deserves more than that. We’re very different, and that’s okay, but we’re not moving in the same direction. _It’s_ just not there.”

Caroline seemed sure of herself in the moment, while Gillian wondered what _it_ was. 

“This is a brut rosé,” Olga was saying. “Just came in two days ago. I think it’s nice for the afternoon. Goes with canapes, but I’d have it with chips too.”

Gillian took a large gulp, happy for the distraction. _This might have been a terrible idea._ The bouquet flooded her nose while she held the second swallow in her mouth. It was smooth. Citrus. Vanilla. Pear.

“That’s. That’s nice, that is.” She said while tapping the bar with her index finger. The wine swirled in her belly and unwound the knot that was growing there. “Thank you.”

Olga nodded, and refilled the glass. 

“I was hoping you could give me some advice, point me in a direction. See, uh, Caz’s—Caroline’s—birthday is in a month, and I wanted to get her something nice. A bottle of something. Bubbly? I figure, I might have to put it on credit, but it’s why I came to you. I-uh- I don’t know what to get. What do you think?” She punctuated the question by draining the second glass that, which to her surprise and slight dismay, Olga immediately refilled.

“That’s weird. That’s so weird.” Olga was shifting her weight back and forth from left foot to right, moving her hips while thinking. Gillian tried not to stare, but the wine was having a greater loosening effect than it should have—had she eaten anything since half six?

“That I’m asking you? I’m sorry, don’t worry about it, I thought it might not be okay.” Gillian turned to slide off her barstool, but her foot hit the ground faster than she anticipated, a jarring movement that meant her empty stomach was having a free-for-all with the wine, and that reminded her of the lonely bag of crisps in her glove compartment.

“No! I don’t mind at all. I like Caroline. I’m happy you asked. No, it’s weird because—if you’d had come in yesterday, I wouldn’t have had a clue how to help you—but today? Today is perfect.” Conspiring, Olga leaned into Gillian, who could smell a floral sweetness emanating from her. “This morning, I took our truck in, and we had a case of Dom Perignon—top shelf—sells for two hundred a bottle. It’s a special year. I got this case as part of a reserved order. I don’t know what happened, someone dropped it, or they batted at the wooden case with a cricket bat or something, but the case is damaged. A corner of it is all splintered. One bottle was bust, two are cracked, I can’t sell them at all. I’ve looked at the other nine. They look good, no damage, but I still can’t sell them for what their worth. I can’t sell the case. I could, however, sell you a bottle for a quarter of what I paid for it.”

“Done.” Gillian was dizzy with relief. “It will taste alright, won’t it?”

“Yeah, I popped one of the bottles this morning as a test.”

Gillian thought that if she were to stop sheep farming, she would work with Olga. “What do I owe you?”

“Thirty, and can I call you sometime?”

The warming in Gillian’s body accelerated into a simmer. _What?_ Surely Olga just wanted to dish about Caroline, and perhaps Gillian could smooth the road between them. Her eyebrows knit together trying to make sense of the request, only to shift to whatever side meant she could get a high-end bottle for a song. “Deal.”

Twenty minutes later—after Olga ran next door for crisps and Gillian handed over the notes, along with her mobile number—she walked back to the Land Rover and napped for three quarters of an hour before driving home. Wrapped in her barn jacket, the prize was safely buckled into the passenger seat.

The month passed, and the bottle was kept hidden in the bottom of a drawer nestled in amongst jumpers. On the day of their birthday, the Greenwoods migrated to Caroline’s, that year’s host.

After dinner, there was the opening of gifts and Gillian presented the bottle humbly, with the sort of reverence where the giver doesn’t know how the gift will be received. She didn’t dare make eye contact for fear that Caroline would instantly know how the bottle had been procured (Would Caroline care that Olga might have been flirting with Gillian?), or worse—that it would be opened immediately and shared with everyone. No, this was for Caroline to pop when she saw fit.

When Gillian finally did look up at Caroline to gauge her reaction, it wasn’t the name on the label that had captured her focus. Instead, Caroline was fiddling with the bow—a few strips of fabric tied together into a sort-of knot from the remainder of Gillian’s favorite shirt, the one that Caroline bought Gillian in New York over their jet-setting summer, and here it was, gracing the neck of an expensive bottle of champagne like a string of pearls on an ingénue. Gillian watched as Caroline’s fingers interlaced in a loose arc of cotton, pairing with her mouth as it curled into a smile in recognition.

“Does that bottle say what I think it does?” Raff broke into the shared reminiscing.

Distracted, Caroline recovered quickly, sliding the fabric from the foil and placing it, unnoticed by all, in her pocket. “It does. Gillian, this—this is too much! It’s lovely, but this is extravagant! Should we open it now?” Caroline looked around the room.

Celia and Alan raised their hands in protest. “No love, best keep it for yourself.” Alan patted his stomach.

“But if you wanted to share it—” Celia began wistfully before Alan put his other hand over hers.

“I could do a bit of sabrage.” Raff stepped forward with a swashbuckling motion.

“Don’t be a twat.” Gillian swatted at him, which he dodged playfully before mouthing to his mother, “Where did you get it?” Only to be answered with a head shake and a shoulder shrug.

“Caroline should open it when she sees fit, and not at the end of t’party.” Alan looked around for a countering argument, to find none.  
  


“Good.” Gillian nodded. She grinned at Caroline, knowing the bottle would not be lost to the evening.

The naked neck and gold foil was just visible from the highest shelf of Caroline’s wine rack, where it awaited opportunity.

As for the bow, it was kept in a drawer amongst Caroline’s brassieres and hose, a plaid keepsake. It slowly migrated from the drawer to sitting on the dresser for a month like a misplaced handkerchief, to being carried in Caroline’s purse, something she would see when digging around for her keys, or a lipstick. The plaid always generated a smile; the memories it called forth were warm. The common denominator of them all was the individual that she loathed at first sight, whom she now actively sought out and trusted more than anyone. 

**Part 4 – Antes; Después**

Caroline returns from her room, crosses the common area, and pads lightly to where Gillian hasn’t moved. Feeling blocked by the bar, she instead turns and backs up against the ledge to face the opposite direction while standing beside Gillian’s silent body.

Wordlessly, she leans a fist over the airspace in between the untouched wine bottle and the farmer. She gives the contents of her hand a brief squeeze and then allows gravity to take over; a plaid ribbon soundlessly drops from Caroline’s fingertips onto the marble. 

Gillian looks at the shredded cotton. She hasn’t seen the pattern for over two years. She still misses the shirt, occasionally looking for it in her closet, or hoping to see it at the bottom of a drawer only to remember it was gone, and then the manner in which it was dispatched. 

“You’ve kept it.”

“It reminds me of you. Only, I’ve just realized that it’s more than that. I thought it was–“ Caroline drifts off momentarily. “I don’t know what I thought it was, I thought I was just appreciating the circumstance, the gifts that came of our friendship. I thought it was simple.” Gillian’s eyebrows knit together at the word. “Not that the feeling is simple. Well—” Caroline exhales in frustration. This is not going the way she thought it would. “I feel more than friendship. More than a stepsister, which does complicate things all said and done. I thought that if I kept it in a box labeled ‘Friend’ that would be enough. I didn’t even let myself think that you might feel the same way. It’s messy. I know.”

Gillian nods.

“We don’t have to change. If you don’t want to. Nothing has to change.”

Gillian turns to look fully into Caroline’s face; searching the blue eyes for the intention behind the words. In just one day, things have already changed. It was futile to pretend otherwise. Raising her tan hand to caress Caroline’s cheek, she draws her face closer. 

“You knob.” Then Gillian kisses her. Almost. The sensuous line of her mouth curves up at the edges. Leaning forward, her lips stop just short of touching Caroline’s. Her lower lip puckers out as if in whispered invitation, the last temptation the blonde cannot deny, and so surrenders. She closes the few millimeters that separate them, giving into the tide of emotion that has buoyed both along for years. Silencing the analytics of her brain, she allows the anchor of Gillian to pull her in closer, enveloping them in a kiss too long in coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an REI in NYC. I don't think it has an indoor climbing wall - I haven't been inside it, but... it's not terribly out of character.
> 
> Again, many thank yous to the editor who helped me piece together something coherent. And to the beta who is easily distracted.
> 
> Spanish Translation:  
> Part 1 - After; Before  
> Part 4 - Before; After


	5. El Laberinto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sightseeing, and then all vacations must come to an end.

**Parte Uno - Tiempo en el Placer**

They are kissing. Insulated in a world of two, blind and deaf to anything outside of the hotel, wrapped up completely in each other; tuned into the other’s breathing, the constant thump of a heartbeat, the little flares of heat that follow a hand’s caress. They have been kissing for fifteen minutes. A quarter of an hour. How much time has Gillian spent thinking of Caroline over the years since they’ve met? How do you measure thoughts? The time a daydream takes, the real estate of gray matter occupied by a conscious thought, a remembrance, a replaying memory? She has had a lifetime of conversations in her head with Caroline about everything mundane: her sheep, the farm, loneliness, company.

And now as if in a conscious dream, Caroline is kissing her. Gillian is floating in a dream state, the panic of rejection that had flooded her veins stalls, leaving her extremities numb. Caroline’s arms wrap around Gillian’s waist, pulling her in close but her lips have not strayed from Gillian’s mouth. She tastes sweet; like the orange slice that rested on her glass with lunch. She kisses intently, slowly. The pink bud of her tongue gently lines Gillian’s upper lip, a sublime request immediately granted. Time spent in pleasure becomes elastic, a caramel strand elongating, and drooping to capture the static moment. Time stretches, folds in on itself, accordion-like, concertinaing, stacking seconds on minutes on hours that while sweetly spent, are gone all too quickly as if swallowed in a single giant mouthful. 

Their kissing deepens, intensifies. Need seeps into the joints of Gillian’s fingers and a ball of heat grows, emanating out from her pelvis. Caroline pulls Gillian closer while her hands begin roaming the body she has been visually mapping for years. Down the swell of her behind and around the front to Gillian’s waist. A flick of thumbs untucks her shirt enough for Caroline’s flat palms to span over the farmer’s smooth stomach. The exploration is gentle with a giddiness that surprises both women. Gillian’s hands find their way to Caroline’s hair, raking through to the back of her neck; dipping into the back of her shirt collar teasing the sensitive skin with a light touch of her finger. This produces a hiss of longing that almost undoes Gillian where she stands. She lifts her head slightly to look over to the cracked door of her bedroom while Caroline softly dots kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Gillian weighs the advantages of the couch against the other bedroom or boosting her onto the counter when Caroline reads her mind.

“There isn’t enough time—the girls will be up shortly, we’re due to leave for the park-labyrinth-thing in half an hour.” Her fingertips flutter over Gillian’s abdomen. “And I want to be able to see you.” Caroline returns to Gillian’s mouth to plant another time-altering kiss, “Besides, I don’t think my back could take the counter."

“Do we have to go?” She is pleased the question doesn’t contain all the whining, foot-stomping energy she wants to put behind it, but hopes that Caroline understands the fantasies that hinge on them being alone for a just few more hours.

“We should, I would hate to cancel, and it’s where we have our dinner reservation.” Caroline resumes her path of kissing along Gillian’s neck.

“Rubbish. So many timetables. What are the girls doing there? Is it for all of us? Did you say a labyrinth? Is there a minotaur?” Each new question is marked by her hands moving northward under Caroline’s blouse edging towards breasts. As a final, mythical punctuation, Gillian pulls her bottom lip in and breathes bullishly out through her nose.

“What? No, it’s a gardening class for kids, although I think they might be the only ones enrolled. They’re going to pot mini-hedges, oranges, something. It’s two hours, and we can sit and watch and approve of the dirt, or we can walk the maze.” Caroline now attempts to rein in their activity before Gillian’s fingertips greedily broach the cups of her bra, by gently taking each wrist and moving them to her own waist, where Gillian immediately moves them southward. She then breathes into her ear the option she thinks most appetizing: “Or we could cross the street to the wine bar.”

“Mmmm. Plying me with drink, eh?”

“I thought you might like that.”

Gillian’s hands immediately cease their travels and firmly take Caroline’s shoulders as she holds the two of them apart. Caroline is taken aback at the intensity in Gillian’s eyes, the space illustrating how serious she is. “I enjoy time with _you_. _You_ make things.” It’s as definitive a declaration from Gillian as she has ever heard.

Gillian softens. “I quite liked you on the beach. With your sunhat, glasses, that poncy cover-up. It were perfect for people watching, which we both know you do. What were you looking at?”

“Couldn’t say.” The blonde steps closer and runs her lips over the outer whorl of the other’s ear before whispering, “Which reminds me, I think the girls could bunk tonight in your room, yes?”

Gillian nods, shivering at the implication; suddenly at a loss for words.

“Would you do me a favor?” Caroline has been experimenting with the way Gillian’s neck responds to various stimulus, from ear to shoulder, and gently bites at the tight trapezius muscle, eliciting a small moan from Gillian. “Tonight, later, wear those cut-offs?”

Gillian’s eyes go wide momentarily as she pulls back from Caroline. “What about the shirt?”

Their laughter wakes Flora and Calamity.

**Parte Dos – ¿Existe el tiempo si estás perdido?**

On seeing the finely pruned hedge walls of the Parque del Laberinto de Horta Barcelona, Caroline wonders how she will get whatever planting project Flora and Calamity will undoubtedly exit with past customs. Even fruit can be suspicious. She admires gardens, even though she has never considered herself in possession of a green thumb and is much more comfortable ordering flowers than growing them. Even with the move to Huddersfield, where the house came with a bit of land, she hired a landscaper, then several different gardeners, and currently employs a lawn service to keep the grass tidy.

The Parque is surrounded by a light stucco exterior that varies in height; in places where it is lower, the hedge also falls away, leaving open windows for viewing the interior. Once inside, a graveled road separates a few pavilions for activities from the official maze entrance. The hedges that mark the maze opening gateway are tall enough that Caroline is unable to see over them easily, but she can tell the walls dip down in places to reveal flower beds, fountains, or the man-made pond at the center. Above them, the sky is filled with gray clouds that skate by, as if avoiding the rain they inevitably bring. Outside people walk by the entrance and hall; market vendors down the street look up with a hand to their eyes.

The adults usher Flora and Calamity into the hall adjacent to the maze where they will be playing with potting soil and plants. The young instructors fawn over both girls, their only students for the class. Calamity allows her grandmother to put an apron on her and promises to keep the soil in the pots. Gillian then pulls a handkerchief from her bag and cinches the apron on Flora, so that dirt won’t fall in between her and the apron. Caroline notices the gesture and realizes that Gillian has recognized and eliminated an issue before there was one; knowing that Flora will not want to get her clothes dirty. She knows how to take care of a problem before it’s arisen. How had Caroline never noticed it before?

The girls turn to their teachers fully prepared, and instead of plunging into a trough filled with dirt they start to talk about citrus and how plants grow. Gillian is looking at the wall – where a guide displays a map to the different flowers that grow within the maze. Flora turns and waves to her mother, who smiles and blows a kiss back. She turns to Gillian and raises an eyebrow as a question—“Ready to go?” They leave the building unnoticed. Caroline takes a few steps toward the exit and wine bar, when she realizes Gillian isn’t following.

“Didn’t you want to go across the street?”

“Yeah,” Gillian pauses and looks to the entrance of the maze where the green hedge walls sing brightly against the white stone. “But how often are we around this? Let’s go through. We can find our way fast.” 

Caroline sighs, considering the statement. How often are they on their own, in a foreign country, surrounded by the beautiful and unfamiliar? When would the next vacation be? Nodding, she motions with a hand for Gillian to lead the way. “After you.”

Gillian grins, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “Right!” and threading her arm through Caroline’s, takes off at a confident pace.

Ten minutes later they are not halfway through. They stop for a few minutes laughing at a fountain with a cherub peeing into a flower while frogs ogle at his feet. There is a right turn at a garden bed, where neither can identify what’s planted, but know they attract bees and butterflies. At a T intersection they turn left, where Gillian notices the sundial posted doesn’t throw a shadow and the sky has darkened. Twenty meters later after two more right turns, the sky softly opens up. The gentle tap, tap increases quickly; both women jump and hurriedly make way to the first shelter available—a marble pergola housing a statue of a woman in Grecian robes, her arms at her side with her hands open. It is a snug fit, but pressed up between a marble column and the statue they are out of the steady downpour.

“Well!” Caroline pulls her shirt gently away from her body, and pushes the hair from her eyes, trying to see around the roof that covers them, up into the sky. “This is unexpected.”

“Is it? I feel like we knew it was supposed to rain. Even so, I like it. It’s warm. It makes everything smell… green.”

Caroline chuckles softly. “You would, Greenwood.” She looks at Gillian: The rain has served as baptism, and the pastoral goddess of earth has returned, eyes shining, skin radiant. The attraction between them, stoked by the rain, summer, vacation atmosphere, and confession; now comes to fruition. _How has this not happened before?_ _What are you waiting for?_ “How long do you think this will go?” Caroline runs a finger over Gillian’s brow, wiping a drop before it goes into her eyes.

Gillian laughs suddenly. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the maze,” she sings.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Mmmm, it was very easy.” Gillian steps up, sandwiching herself between Caroline and the statue, and begins to kiss the exposed skin of Caroline’s neck. She sucks lightly in a steady path northward toward an ear.

“You leave a mark and I will leave you here, in this garden, in Spain.”

A throaty laugh erupts from Gillian. “Worth it. If there’s a mark, this means it’s real. It’s happening.”

Caroline nips at an earlobe, places a kiss on the adjacent cheekbone. “Is that what you think? That next week we pretend—this didn’t happen?” She hadn’t thought about a path forward, or really anywhere; she was still acknowledging any of the emotions she harbored for so long.

“No,” Gillian leans up on tip toes to kiss Caroline, eyes open. “Right now is all we get. I don’t know what next week’s going to ask of you. So I’m here, right now.”

“Gillian, I’m not going to change my mind when we go home.”

“M’ neither. But I’m not thinking about it right now. It’s okay, but….” She drifts off to look down the path of the way they came. They are alone, the summer rain continues steadily. “What if the rain in Spain is all we get?”

Caroline searches a face of contradictions: humor, grief, guilt, anger, envy, adoration, peace. She has seen all of them on that face, Gillian’s face. She is of course, correct: Now is all they have.

There is a thought for Kate. The plans they had made. The promises. Their tomorrows had been smacked away, and the weight of wasted potential initially pressed down on Caroline to where she couldn’t breathe. There was never any choice though, she kept going. The weight had eased over the years. There were so many things that were never done, words never spoken. She couldn’t postpone living. She couldn’t wait for a more convenient time. 

“Why do you know so many musical numbers?” Caroline preempts any answer with a kiss.

She is met with a passion only matched by Gillian’s strength, and the two are quickly breathless.

Caroline leans forward to kiss Gillian’s brow that she wiped rain from, and moves to inhale at Gillian’s cheek before whispering, “This is real. Here. Now.” Moving her fingertips to the waist of Gillian’s trousers, she dips a finger in between fabric and skin, a downward circle to signify intention. “Is this okay?”

Gillian is surprised, but nods eagerly. Caroline pops the button at the fly, and the rhythmic trill of the short zipper pushes both into a new bout of furious kissing, pausing long enough for Gillian to lift herself for Caroline to push the opened trousers partway down slender hips. A delighted and sumptuous “oh” escapes from Gillian as Caroline enters her.

They will have the evening. There will be tomorrow. There will be the days that follow, but for now, Caroline is focused on the moment, praying to the goddess of musicals that the rain continues for the hour.

**Parte Tres - Entre las Nubes**

The canned air of the plane interior leaves an odd tang in Gillian’s mouth. The screen that has been mounted to the chair back immediately in front of her displays a slow-moving animation of an airplane making its way from Spain back to home. To her left is Calamity, who had begged and pleaded to have the window seat, who, within 20 minutes of takeoff and before the fasten seatbelt sign had been turned off, fell fast asleep. Her braid lolls to the side as Gillian positions a pillow between her and her granddaughter.

To her right across the aisle, Caroline sits with Flora, who is very much awake, and an old hand at flying. Her niece has also commandeered a window seat, leaving the two women with a gap 45 centimeters between them. Having been inseparable from Caroline over the past few evenings, even into this morning, Gillian feels the space acutely. Since the garden, there has been no talk of what to do at home.

Gillian looks over the aisle and feels the gap between them widening, even as she settles into her body again. This morning they woke up entwined, stuck to each other in some new creation, tingling and pleasingly sore at the same time. Gillian’s fingers twitch in muscle memory recalling how she ran her thumbs up Caroline’s thighs.

Gillian already knows what happens next.

At any given time, Caroline has a multitude of demands placed on her. Coupled with the delightful needs of Flora and a mother who never approves of anything less than conventional until it’s gone, has nothing to spare. Her diary is managed by a secretary and is often booked weeks in advance. The past week has been a respite from it, but all vacations come to an end. More importantly than the time that Caroline doesn’t have, she isn’t ready. Maybe it’s grief, or the well-deserved fear that comes with being vulnerable; or that Caroline has been armored for so long, she doesn’t realize she’s still clad in it. The result is the same; Caroline is closed off. Unavailable.

As if sensing the thought cloud painting the interior of Gillian’s mind, Caroline looks over, and flashes a soft, sad smile.

No, not now. 

But Gillian’s feelings won’t change. Caroline’s won’t either. It’s just a matter of time. Gillian can give her that. Gillian can wait. They had this – Barcelona, an unexpected gift.

She leans back into her chair and closes her eyes to see Caroline in gold, floating over the dance floor, extending her hand to Gillian.

For now, it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to the editor especiale and to the beta reader (alpha reader?). Many more additional thank-yous to those that have read, commented, and been oh-so encouraging.
> 
> Translations:  
> Chapter 5 - The Labyrinth  
> Part One - Time in Pleasure  
> Part Two - Does Time Exist if You’re Lost?  
> Part Three - Among the Clouds
> 
> Gillian sings - The Rain In Spain - My Fair Lady - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVmU3iANbgk


	6. Epílogo - Yo No Estoy Enamorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An honest to goodness ending. It takes a bit, but Caroline finally comes around to Hebden Women's Disco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to you who have read and commented throughout this little adventure - this feels like a more fitting ending to the side-trip. 
> 
> And as always - thank you to KatieDIngo and DisMoi for being cool and for running with an excellent idea.

There are birds chirping. Not the squawk of warning, or the questioning trills of courtship, but full-on “oh what a beautiful morning” singing to accompany the first strains of pink in the sky.

_What the hell are they so happy about?_ Caroline thinks as she rolls on her back, pulling a pillow over her head and eyes to briefly smother herself with darkness and muffled silence. Her tongue feels thick and sticks to the roof of her mouth. Had her skull shrunk in the night? Her desiccated brain feels like it is trying to hammer its way through to the outside, right between her eyes. _This is what you get when you let Gillian order; she follows a perfectly innocuous fuzzy navel with two rounds of Jägerbombs._

* * *

It hadn’t stopped there. After the bomb shots had been “pounded” (Gillian had thumped the table with her free fist impressively after each), her stepsister had switched to a gin and tonic, which she downed quickly and, after sitting up very straight in her chair at their high table, began to sing along loudly to the song blaring through the club, altering the lyrics, all while pointing to Caroline:

“Ooh, my little pretty one, my pretty one

When you gonna give me some BAR-CELONA—”

Caroline shook her head from the brief, warm daze that she had settled into while nursing her G&T. She’d forgotten about this. Gillian hadn’t changed the words to a song since Spain, well maybe she did with the sheep during chores, but this was focused and purely for Caroline’s enjoyment. Unguarded and playful Gillian was reappearing before her eyes. Caroline shifted to the back of her chair. The temporary lighting rig set up around the converted deejay booth cast lights in swirling colors. Gillian was smiling, her teeth flashing a lighter shade of purple, blue, green, pink, yellow.

“Never gonna stop, give it up, such a dirty mind—”

Now she was throwing her head from side to side in time to the beat. Alarmed she might thrash herself out of the chair, Caroline saw no other option than to usher her club-kid stepsister out to the floor to bop around to the remainder of the song.

Standing up from their table, Caroline nodded her head toward the small but packed area for dancing. An enthusiastic Gillian jumped up so suddenly, she had to catch her chair from falling over. Taking Gillian’s hand, Caroline two-stepped over to an unoccupied corner, and then proceeded to spin her around in circles, reeling her in to punctuate the chorus with a dramatic dip.

“Where’d that come from?” Gillian gasped into Caroline’s ear once upright again.

“M’not sure, you started messing with the words,” Caroline lost her train of thought, as she could feel Gillian’s hips gyrating. “Seemed appropriate.”

Gillian’s grin illuminated her face.

As The Knack faded, the first strains of 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love” swept over the pub. Caroline placed her hands properly on Gillian’s waist, only to change her mind and pull Gillian into an embrace while they swayed on the dance floor.

“I remember this song.” Gillian’s chest was heaving lightly as her heart beat faster from the dancing and from sudden proximity to Caroline. Faint notes of perfume wafted up from the blonde’s sweater—the same perfume she wore whenever she went out, including the cultural dinner in Barcelona, when they had last danced together.

“Mmm?” Caroline offered.

“Yeah, it played at m’Dad’s and Celia’s wedding.” Gillian’s hands clasped behind Caroline’s neck. She moved her face to Caroline’s shoulder, enough to be able to speak into her ear. “We were sitting at t’same table. I stood up, I was going to ask you to dance, thought it might make Robbie jealous. I lost my nerve.”

“But you danced with Robbie.”

“Yeah, I watched you as the song ended. Robbie held onto me, and Kate came in. Everyone was happy.”

It occurs to Caroline that the song is another gift in a line of mysterious presents the universe sees fit to bestow on her. She’s finally dancing with the woman she wants to dance with, someone who wants to dance with her.

“Were you?” Caroline pulled back slightly in an effort to read Gillian’s face.

“Don’t remember.” Gillian looked away quickly. Her fingers gripped into Caroline’s shoulders.

“I….” Caroline drifted off. She could feel herself relaxing into the smaller woman’s arms. Holding Gillian close, swaying to the music felt so comfortable it was almost painful, painful because the specter of what could’ve been lost drove Caroline to act in a predictable pattern.

Caroline’s light flirtation with School Ruth, which lead to a harsh rejection served with a side of homophobia, had caused her to doubt how she perceived almost everyone in her orbit, Gillian included. Surely she was better as a friend; their vacation in Barcelona had been a rare foray into something else, but Gillian was too valuable to lose in any capacity. Not that she had given voice to any of it, her thoughts, or fears. Just that there had been a deep, cold panic when she heard that Far Slack Farm might be sold up entirely for who knows what. When Gillian had mentioned the woodworm at their birthday gathering, she knew it was serious and that the repairs would be costly. It was no less frustrating than surprising when Gillian balked at Caroline’s offer of a loan. So to skirt the issue entirely, Caroline had reverted to the old habit of trying to fix things on her own.

Why had she finally relented to come to Hebden Women’s Disco? How did Gillian know more of lesbian culture than Caroline? Did Gillian really think she should give Judith serious consideration like she said earlier? There was only one person she was honestly interested in, whom she was currently holding.

The song went on. Caroline found herself in the words. “Ooh, you’ll wait a long time for me,” she sang out loud. “Ooh, you’ll wait a long time.”

Gillian lifted her head from Caroline’s shoulder. “Is that true?” Like a helium-filled balloon, the question floated up above the crowd, untethered.

* * *

Releasing the pillow from over her head, Caroline is aware of the comforter pinned to her right side, Ruth’s normal spot. Rolling toward the pull, the sleeves of her pajamas catch at her underarms. They have twisted about her torso; evidence of a restless night. To her surprise the bed partner isn’t her canine protector but Gillian: fully dressed save for shoes, a sock slunk down far on her foot exposing a bony ankle; snoring lightly on top of the duvet. 

Ruth is at the foot of the bed and awake, looking mournfully from her owner to the human that has displaced her. With a quizzical grunt she noses over the interloper’s foot and sniffs at the exposed skin between knit and denim. Unimpressed, she slumps off the bed to pad downstairs. The weight dispersal moves Gillian, who groans and yawns.

While propping herself on an elbow to properly enjoy the view, Caroline realizes this was the way they had slept in Barcelona: with Gillian taking the open right side of the bed to deftly maneuver over to center, and hug the invisible middle line of the mattress while touching Caroline with a body part, just to maintain contact. Currently, Gillian’s hip is angled to Caroline’s and a foot is touching her own even though they are separated by the bed linens.

At the recognition of being in bed with Gillian again, a graphic memory of their last morning in Barcelona crashes her thoughts: Gillian’s upright body braced by her hand on the mattress, fingers splayed open on the sheet. Caroline was inside her, moving within and against her body. Focused in the moment she was memorizing the line of muscle in Gillian’s forearm, the contrast of her tan hand against the white bedsheet, when Gillian’s barely audible moan of an exhale called Caroline’s face up to hers as she came; hair wild, facing the ceiling with closed eyes. Caroline’s cheeks flush, she had suppressed much of what happened over the trip in the interest of preserving normal life.

But a year later and her feelings haven’t changed or even diminished, she still craves the company of a somewhat surly sheep farmer. Still calls her first, still agonizes over every text. The involuntary leap of excitement her heart does on spotting the Landy in a carpark for an arranged dinner; she’s learned far more about sheep than she ever thought she would care to, it’s all beyond her control.

Awaking in an altered state to find Gillian once more in her bed has messily opened all the neat mental compartments she had created after vacation. Want and desire were strangled so she could focus on keeping the peace at school and home while playing the dutiful daughter and friend. Everything has been stripped away, just as clearly as Gillian standing flush against her in front of the shark tank in the aquarium.

The pull of attraction between them suddenly asserts itself, dizzying like the gnaw of her hangover. To keep from kissing Gillian, nay, devouring her, she asks a question of little consequence: “How did I get into my pajamas?”

With a soft snort, Gillian groggily faces her. “Mmmph, one arm and leg at a time. You did try to moonwalk around the room before I got your top buttoned all the way though.” Reaching a hand down between the comforter and her top Caroline fingers a missed button that asserts yes, her top is catawampus.

“That must have been a show.”

Chuckling, Gillian’s eyes drop to the bounty covered by the askew pajama top. “You weren’t in a hurry to cover up. Who am I to argue?” Pulling her eyes back up to Caroline’s face, a grin perches on the side of her mouth, “How are you feeling?”

“Parched. And like I’ve pickled myself twice over.”

“Proof we had fun.”

“Proof?” Caroline’s irises darken, pupils constrict: now fully awake, she is touching and not touching Gillian. While sheltering from the rain shower in the garden maze, Gillian had sucked a mark on her lower neck only to revisit it later in the evening and mouth “glorious,” as she attempted to leave a matching one on the other side. 

The bedroom is growing brighter by the moment, transforming the white duvet into a glowing field. Caroline’s headache pushes her to define concepts as definite articles – light, sound, silence, need. The space between them is tangibly emphasized by the comforter and her own binding pajamas. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper she reaches across Gillian’s body to take her hand: “I thought you liked to leave marks as proof.”

Gillian’s pulse quickens as she interlaces their fingers. There is a sleep line on Gillian’s face from the pillow that Caroline wants to trace with her tongue. “C-can’t help myself.”

“I’ve missed this,” Caroline says with a shy, soft kiss at the nadir of the pillow’s impression mid-jaw. Unclasping their hands, Caroline now snakes her arm behind Gillian’s body to pull it flush against her. “You. I’ve missed you.” She breathes in deeply through her nose, Gillian’s skin an aphrodisiac even as lines of sun break through the window seeming to ping-pong around the interior of Caroline’s skull. Screwing her eyes shut she nuzzles into Gillian’s shoulder.

“Do you need more time?” Gillian says thickly into the morning air, the self-control she has exercised in keeping desire at bay is fast eroding with every touch from Caroline.

“No,” she breathes into the hollow of Gillian’s throat. She moves to her right across Gillian’s collarbone, where a freckle sits crowning the center of the bone. Pressing her lips to it briefly, she shifts her jaw to touch the skin, and sucks in sharply through her teeth. Gillian gasps at the prick of pain, over as soon as it starts.

As Caroline lifts away, a small crimson heart starts to form under the freckle. _Glorious,_ she thinks.

“It’s been too long.”

Songs

[“Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin” – OKLAHOMA! by Rogers & Hammerstein (which incidentally works perfectly with Barcelona)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5APc0z49wg)

[“My Sharona” by The Knack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVdnqEyToqg)

[“I’m Not in Love” by 10cc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgJckGsR-T0)

Translation 

Epilogue – I’m Not in Love


End file.
